Half the Truth
by Nicor Warg-Fyrweorm
Summary: White lies are said to soften the truth. Some truths are twisted so that they aren't recognizable, or are hidden in lies. Sometimes the brain can't deal with the truth and makes it change, or disappear from memory. This time there's no excuse. The truth was there all along and Spike wasn't able to recognize it as such.
1. Lies by Omission

Today has been a good day.

They arrived at the power plant sooner than usual, so the Decepticons didn't have time to steal as much, and the twins managed to somehow slam Thundercracker to the ground hard enough to knock him out, thus the Autobots gained a prisoner.

Spike didn't understand a thing of what Starscream screeched when Megatron gave the order to retreat, but judging by Soundwave's flinch it wasn't anything nice.

Now, however, the teenager has been left to roam the _Ark_ alone because the officers are in a meeting, Bumblebee is in Repair Bay—and nobody in their right mind wants to be in there to be screamed at by Ratchet to not get underfoot—and the rest of his friends are busy with patrol, getting some rest or getting another layer of paint to replace the one that got scratched.

So, seeing how there's nothing else to do, the boy wanders to the brig.

Gears and Huffer are inside, guarding their bumped and scratched but otherwise unharmed prisoner, though it looks like they're paying more attention to the holographic chess-like game on the table between them.

"Hey guys, what are you playing?"

"Quattra."

"… What's that?"

"A game. Hey, that move's illegal!"

"Says who?"

"Me! You can't follow Reasus' High Ground Trap with Windshot's Spear!"

"'Course I can! I took out your Tank Roller with my Rotor, not my Chaser!"

"That's exactly what Windshot's Spear is!"

With a tired sigh, Spike tunes the discussion out, feeling utterly and completely lost, and turns around to leave the brig.

And he finally notices Thundercracker is staring very intently at the guards.

Curious, and feeling secure in the knowledge the energy bars are enough to keep the Seeker at bay, the human approaches the prisoner.

"So, is Gears cheating?" He asks, if only to start the conversation on something not too much of a sore point.

"I shouldn't know." The voice is calm and the words are spoken without anger, but Spike feels as if he's been slapped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. I shouldn't know if any of them cheated at Quattra." Thundercracker elaborates, still as nonthreatening as before.

"You don't know how to play?"

"I shouldn't."

And the wording finally clicks in place, almost loud enough to make the boy wobble.

"You… shouldn't know how to play. But you do?"

"Soundwave taught us."

"Us?"

Thundercracker looks at the human, and for the first time Spike notices his optics are a deep orange instead of red.

Is it just him, or are there other Decepticons with optics that look almost red?

"The Seekers. Megatron. The Constructicons. Us." He answers easily, a servo waving in a tiny encompassing gesture.

"The… Decepticons?" Spike repeats, confused, because he's mentioned quite a bit of them, and that movement…

Thundercracker's optics darken in a small frown.

"No. Just us. They… You…" He looks briefly at the two Autobots, still grumbling as they continue playing, not paying them attention, before turning to the teenager again.

"Me?" The human repeats, his tone urging the Flier to explain himself.

Instead, his optics lighten in a flash, turning an almost yellowish pale orange.

"You don't know."

"Not if you don't tell me."

"They didn't explain anything. Is that why you're helping them?"

"Wha—Hey! Of course they explained! The Autbots are the good guys, you were the ones that started the war."

"But they didn't tell you why."

"'Cause Megatron is power hungry, and the rest of you are almost as bad as him."

"But _why_ is he power hungry?"

And Spike opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

"I… Does that matter?" He finally manages to retort, crossing his arms against his chest defensively.

Thundercracker's optics go back to their dark orange color, but are somehow brighter, more piercing.

"The saboteur. Black and white, with sensory horns and blue visor."

"Jazz?"

"He likes music, doesn't he?"

"Uh, yeah, but—"

"Why doesn't he make his own?"

"Pardon?"

"He has never made up his own music, has he? Not even to hum it under his breath while he waits for his Energon cube to be served, or while he goes to his office or a meeting. Has he?"

"Maybe he's just no good at it."

"The Tactician. Black and white, red chevron." The teenager narrows his eyes suspiciously, managing to stay silent this time, but the tiny gesture is more than enough answer for the Seeker. "He's always following rules and directives, enforcing them even with manual labor punishment or brig time."

"Laserbeak told you that. Or Ravage." Orange optics darken.

"The noble. Blue and white, high speed." Spike tenses slightly. "He never does much, does he?"

"He's one of the Autobots' best spies."

"And besides that? He has that invisibility device, so he's a spy. Does he go through monitor duty? Clean the ship? Deal with reports? Or does he just go, take a peek at what we're doing, tell what he's seen and go away to wherever? And your golden frontliner, that blasted twin. He's the one to deal with the paintjobs of the whole of the Autobots, isn't he? Why not another? Or the Minibots, they're the ones on monitor and cleansing duty, unless someone else has been 'punished' to do so, aren't they? And when was the last time you saw that hologram-making green scout _inside_ the ship except for recharging, refueling and reporting?"

"So what?" Spike cuts, almost a bit forcefully, as he takes a step back, unnerved by how a Decepticon that doesn't even know his friends' names is so aware of their habits and routines.

"… They didn't tell you anything." The human takes another step back, slightly fearful, as the Decepticon hisses in anger, fists clenching almost hard enough for the boy to hear metal bending. "Tell me, do you know who was Abraham Lincoln?"

"Of course I know! He was one of the greatest presidents of the United States. He abolished slavery and—"

"One of the 'greatest'. And the first deed you think about is him granting freedom to all members of the human race regardless of looks. Is that why he's so _great_?" Thundercracker hisses, and Spike has to gulp a couple of times to get his throat to work, but ends just nodding in the end. "They didn't tell you anything."

"Hey, what the Pit are you hissing back there, Deceptiscum?!" Huffer snarls, and Spike jumps a bit in surprise, whirling around to see the holographic board is nothing more than a slab of metal now, deactivated.

They must have finished the game and noticed Spike talking to the Seeker.

There's a deep growl coming from Thundercracker, filled with disgust and hate, and the teenager quickly rushes through the door when Gears opens it and gestures for him to go.

"Better stay away from here. One never knows what dirty tricks a Decepticon hides under their plating. And don't believe anything he says. _Decepti_-con. From 'deception'."

"You are being deceived!" Thundercracker roars before the door closes, filling the corridor Spike's been left standing alone in with silence.

Trying to replace the Seeker's words with Gears' only makes them come back stronger.

So, Spike starts to roam again, hoping to find someone that can distract him… or answer a couple of questions.

Loud steps make the teenager snap back to attention, and a wide smile appears on his face as he sees he's managed to wander to the corridor the Rec Room is in, a large white mech with red accents approaching it calmly.

"Skyfire!" The Shuttle reboots his optics before looking around but easily finds the human running to him.

"Hello Spike. How are you today?"

"A bit confused. Can I ask you a question?" The Autobot kneels down, looking curious, before nodding. "You're a scientist, right?" Another nod. "Why aren't you usually in the labs?"

"Because I am a field scientist. I study my specimens in their natural environment."

"That's it?"

"That's it." The Shuttle repeats, a small amused smile on his face.

"Huh… how well do you know Jazz?" He asks, his words coming out slowly and a bit drawn out because of his slight hesitation about how to word his next question.

"A bit less than you do, I'm sure." Spike deflates at the answer, looking up into blue optics with an almost betrayed look.

"And Mirage?"

"Same answer, I'm afraid."

"And… and the others?"

"Spike, what is going on?"

"It's just… Why do they do the things they do? And why don't they do the things they don't?" He lets out with a healthy dose of frustration, waving his arms.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific." Skyfire answers, startled.

"Why doesn't Jazz make music? Or Mirage! Why doesn't Mirage have monitor duty?"

"Well, that's easy. Mirage is a noble."

"So what? He can't do monitor duty?" The Shuttle's optics darken in confusion as he frowns softly.

"No, he can't. He's a _noble_." He repeats, stressing the last word a bit, and the teenager's mouth falls open.

"Just like that."

"Nobles shouldn't stoop to such menial tasks as monitor duty."

And there it is again.

_Should_.

"Do Seekers know how to play Kata?"

"Kata?"

"That board game, with the holographic pieces and the different layers?" He explains a bit hesitantly, gesturing with his hands to demonstrate the board he's seen, with some tower-like structures on the corners and holes in the middle.

"You mean Quattra?"

"Yes!" He exclaims happily, trying to drill the name in his brain. "So, can they? Seekers? Play Quattra?"

"Of course not."

_Of course not._

With such certainty as one saying the sky is blue.

"Why?"

"They're Seekers."

_"Tell me, do you know who was Abraham Lincoln?"_

"And they don't know how to play Quattra because…"

"Because they're Seekers. It's not their function."

"Function."

"Yes."

"Do you know how to play Quattra?"

"I don't."

"Do you want to learn?"

"Of course not. Why should I?"

_Should._

_Of course._

Spike is starting to hate those words, as well as the way his stomach is clenching in dread.

"And… why shouldn't you?" He asks almost timidly, and Skyfire laughs.

A warm, amused, fond and completely non-mocking laughter.

Like when he was a young child that believed rainbows were bridges.

His father had laughed like that when he asked him if one day they would go see what was at the other side.

"Spike, I'm a Shuttle. My function is transport and deep space exploration. Not playing Quattra." And, with those last words he stands up. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to refuel and get some recharge. Don't worry yourself with such ridiculous questions while I'm gone, alright?" He adds with a soft chuckle, again no hint of mockery, as he disappears into the Rec Room.

_"You… shouldn't know how to play. But you do?"_

_"Soundwave taught us."_

_"Us?"_

_"The Seekers. Megatron. The Constructicons. Us."_

Spike stares at the closed door as his hands clench into fists to stop their trembling.

_"Spike, I'm a Shuttle. My function is transport and deep space exploration. Not playing Quattra."_

He has to take a deep breath before he finally manages to look away, and his fists clench tighter when they keep shaking.

_"And they don't know how to play Quattra because…"_

_"Because they're Seekers. It's not their function."_

Slowly, he takes a step, followed by another, and another… and breaks into a run.

_"Tell me, do you know who was Abraham Lincoln?"_

The sun blinds him as he steps outside, and he has to stop in fear of tripping or slamming into something.

_"And the first deed you think about is him granting freedom to all members of the human race regardless of looks. Is that why he's so _great_?"_

When he turns around, the entrance to the _Ark_ looks far darker than ever before.

_"Wha—Hey! Of course they explained! The Autbots are the good guys, you were the ones that started the war."_

_"But they didn't tell you why."_

_"'Cause Megatron is power hungry, and the rest of you are almost as bad as him."_

_"But _why_ is he power hungry?"_

Thundercracker couldn't have been implying what he thinks he'd been, could he?

_"Better stay away from here. One never knows what dirty tricks a Decepticon hides under their plating. And don't believe anything he says. _Decepti_-con. From 'deception'."_

But…

_"So, can they? Seekers? Play Quattra?"_

_"Of course not."_

Skyfire hadn't known about the war because he'd been trapped in ice for longer than it has been raging.

He still thinks and lives mostly like how it had been before the battles started.

Quite a lot of the Autobots say so.

... Has he really been so _blind_?

_"You are being deceived!"_

The desert wind is almost scorching hot, but Spike shivers and hugs himself.

* * *

**AN:** There. I finally got it out.

This is something that's been in my mind for so long that I don't remember when I first thought about it. I've been meaning to get it out since forever, but I never managed to get more than create an empty doc. Not a word. Until now.

Think of it as you want.

As always, questions are welcome and will be answered.

And yes, that was a reference to IDW's Megatron. Whether it was a real reference in fic when Thundercracker said it or not is also open to interpretation.

All Quattra moves were made up on the spot.


	2. Chains of Freedom

Pacing is a useless activity that serves no purpose other than lose time in a completely non-productive way.

That doesn't mean he can stop himself from engaging in it.

It isn't like he can do _anything_.

He turns around with a silent snarl, the continuous pattern of his pede-steps broken by the unexpected change in direction, but easily regained. There's only so much space he can pace in, after all.

Both his Trinemates are in Autobot territory, one captured and the other planning a 'bold and daring' rescue, and he can't do anything other than sit tight and _wait_.

Well, he's not doing that either, but who cares? Starscream certainly doesn't, and as long as he doesn't get in the way, neither do Soundwave or the Reflector Gestalt.

Besides, it isn't like he's disobeying orders or anything, it's just that Megatron hasn't tired of seeing him walk in circles yet, but no one's under the illusion he won't be kicked out of the bridge when he finally gets on their leader's nerves.

But he hasn't. Not yet. So, he's pacing, cursing the Autobots, the blasted frontliner twins, the humans, the planet and his own pedes for not making walking more difficult so he can burn his nervousness away.

And his slagging processor will not stop bringing up worst case scenarios!

Another snarl, another unexpected twist, and the steps easily fall into the rhythm once more.

They don't have a bargaining chip, that's why Skywarp and Ravage are out there, just the two of them to decrease the chances of detection, one to infiltrate the ship and shut down the force-field around the _Ark_ so that the other can warp in and get them out before the Autobots even know what happened.

It's a risky move, but so far they have Prime thinking they're willing to negotiate for the safe return of the blue Seeker, so they shouldn't be expecting a direct move.

Not as much as they would if they had refused to talk, that is.

Prowl and his tactics, his strategies, thinking every single slagging scenario, no matter how unlikely, and preparing for it… and Starscream can just stay in the _Nemesis_ and _wait_!

This time, the snarl is accompanied with a brief growl of his turbines, and he gets a couple of looks before the other occupants of the bridge go back to letting him be.

It's wrong! It's so very wrong… He's the Trineleader, the Air Commander, the Decepticon Second, and he can't do a fragging thing!

He turns around so sharply that he stumbles over his own pedes, but manages to keep standing with a couple of wobbling steps.

_Slaggit!_

There's a tired hydraulic hiss that he knows it's Megatron beginning to ponder whether or not throw him out of the bridge, and he feels his Energon boil.

Seekers may be creatures of movement, their myriad of sensors needing at least a minimum stimulation that comes from the most imperceptible air currents, which means they have a hard time staying still in enclosed spaces, but he isn't just _any_ Seeker.

He's Starscream, he's supposed to be better than that! To be able to stand at Megatron's side, as motionless and at attention regardless of being hovering on the air or with his pedes firmly pressed against the metal of the _Nemesis_' bridge, he's _not_ some sensory stimulation-deprived pitiful creature!

So why can't he _stop pacing_?!

Metal against metal of pede-steps approaching, and he knows the being isn't Megatron, but that doesn't make it better, because if he's asked to leave by him, he'll have to obey.

But he _can't leave_… What if they receive a distress signal? What if Skywarp or Ravage get in trouble and can't make it back, or if they're captured? He needs to be the first to know to answer as fast as possible, he needs to be _here_!

"Starscream."

Slag.

For the first time since the plan was put in motion, the sound of pede-steps ceases.

The bridge is eerily silent without them.

"What is it, Soundwave." He whispers, keeping his voice low so that he can manage some semblance of control, but doesn't look up at the Communications Officer.

"Query: Quattra."

His helm snaps up with a whistling sound, red optics a pale pink in surprise, as he processes those words.

Two simple words that any other time would have made him shrug and nod in acceptance, but not now.

"You can't be serious." He answers, voice strangely emotionless, before the anger flashes. "You can't be _serious_! My Trinemates are at the mercy of the Autobots, your own _creation_ is there too, and you want to play _Quattra_?!"

Soundwave doesn't even twitch, visor the same soothing red as always, as he waits for Starscream's whirling fans to dissipate the heat of his ire.

Once they go silent, the Cassette Carrier nods.

"Query: Quattra." He repeats, pulling the innocent slab of dull silver from subspace.

And Starscream remembers another time, back when the Decepticons hadn't been anything but a group of nameless troublemakers and thieves in Kaon and the nearby city-states, when that same tablet had been a beautiful liquid shiny silver when he first saw it in this same mech's servos.

He hadn't known what it was back then, hadn't even cared, too angry and distracted by the Senate and their plans for the grand appearance of the yet-unnamed purple-blazoned group.

The words had even been the same, though the undetectable tone had been different.

An inquiry about his desire to learn.

And mech, doesn't he _always_.

Memory soothing his highly charged wires, Starscream finds himself relaxing minutely before he nods.

"Sure, why not." He finally answers and, without another word, Soundwave sits down where he's standing and puts the board on the ground between them.

The holographic projection flickers a couple of times when it's activated, and as he sits down on the floor of the bridge, the Seeker makes a note to check its cabling and see if any need replacing.

That's the only board they have in the _Nemesis_, after all.

The Communications Officer gestures to him with a servo, but Starscream just turns the game around so that the opening move is the Cassette Carrier's.

Quattra is a complicated game, with many rules and directives that depend on the previous moves, the pieces on the board, their positions, the _rival_'s pieces… So many 'ifs' that one needs to either know them by spark or have them written in a file to check them as they play, every move of the way, to make sure not to break any.

It's a processor-scrambling activity that requires time, concentration, calm and the ability to think about the long-term as well as the immediate action, the first of which most of Cybertron never had, and the rest of them _believed_ to be absent by those few 'good enough' to be allowed the amenity of learning how to play.

Quattra is supposed to be a representation of war, like the humans' _Battleship_ or _Risk_ games, and even though all Decepticons now know how inaccurate it is when compared to the real deal, Starscream still enjoys it.

It's a good way to exercise his processor, to push away everything happening around him, to rid himself of the constant shadow of failure looming over his wings, and it's a nice way to test some strategies to see if they're worth implementing in the real battlefield.

He still remembers when he was called to his first meeting as something resembling an officer, back when the Decepticons were still nameless and just a bunch of revolutionaries, only to find himself stopping short in disbelief when he saw the founder of the movement and his communications expert playing Quattra.

They hadn't been, they had just been using the board because they had no real holomaps to illustrate and organize their movements, but to an illiterate Seeker like himself, it had seemed so.

It had been… a shock, in more ways than one. The disgust and horror he'd felt at seeing the former miner, a _Tread Roller_, moving the beautifully programmed holographic pieces around with the ease that spoke of confidence in what he was doing, as if it was his _function_ to play such an elitist game, had been as unexpected as revolting.

He had joined the rebels to rid himself of such preconceptions and break free from the Senate's chains, after all. How could he think himself better than those slavers, how could he believe himself to be helping his fellow Cybertronian when he still adhered to such Functionalist beliefs?

It had been one Pit of a processor rebooting, that simple image, but it had been so badly needed… The processor-ache hadn't been pleasant as he sorted through his coding to rebuke the faulty lines, but it had been welcomed with a bright spark.

A blue dactyl caresses faded silver fondly at the memory, not even the first move having been played but feeling so much calmer already.

Starscream loves the game because of what it gives him, but he loves the board, this specific old, faded, scratched, dented and prone to cable-peeling board, even more because of what it _means_.

Soundwave was a Senatorial Aide, a servant drone in all but name, and thus it was his duty to be always ready to cater to the Senators' every needs. Including entertainment.

Every Aide carried on them some board games for their masters' use only, all of them shiny and perfectly cared for and replaced as soon as they got even the tiniest scratch.

'Superior mechs only', they seemed to scream.

But this one, the innocent slab of metal casing and circuitry resting on the _Nemesis_' bridge's floor, this one is not.

This is the one that they used to organize the troops, to plan the Decepticons' uprising and the first, grand coup, that has taught every single 'unworthy' purple-branded mech how to become a general and a strategist, the one that turned a lowly Tread Roller miner into the Herald of a free Cybertron.

Soundwave always takes it with him, no matter where or under which situation. If it isn't in his subspace it's because it's either on his servos or in front of him, activated to let a new faux battle begin, regardless of him being a fighter or an observer.

It's not a symbol of the Cassette Carrier's chains, but of the shackles he broke free of when he first offered it to a miner turned gladiator, along the knowledge obtained through many joor of observing his masters play.

No one cherishes this board more than Soundwave, though all other Decepticons hold it in high regards too.

The only beings that care for it more that Megatron and Starscream, though not as much as the Communications Officer, are the Reflector Gestalt themselves, all three of them also former Senatorial Aides whose freedom is represented by other equally mundane but meaningful items, which Soundwave, and the other Decepticons, care for in turn.

A mismatched set of rhomboid cards, a holoprojector of Iacon's Towers and a couple of detailing brushes that will never be used again.

Starscream has been in contact with them all, whether to indulge in a game of Brooke or Breeskay, to repair shorted out light pointers or to replace delicate needles, so he knows they're as important to both the Decepticons and their owners as the Quattra board.

But they don't mean as much as the old scuffed strategy game, for it was this glitchy thing what made him realize he was still chained despite his decision to break free.

Soundwave moves, and the Seeker smiles despite himself.

"Going for the classics, don't you." He whispers fondly, staring at the flickering piece that has just been seemingly pushed to its deactivation, the image clearing once the sensors finally register the new position.

He gets no answer, but he needs none.

That was the first move the Cassette Carrier made against him, when he agreed to learn the game.

Bittersweet memories of the tunnels and rust-covered underground passages of Kaon, even the softest breeze replaced by the huffs and bursts of overheated air from the factories and smelters, the scent of corrosion and tainted Energon sticking to every micron of plating as polluted mist filled the bowels of the city-state like stardust did planetary rings, visibility decreasing to the point wing-sensors were the only reason he didn't slam into a wall… or something that had once been functional.

Pit on Cybertron, the Real Impossibility, that something that extended towards the center of their planet, towards the Spark that created them all, could be the worst place of their world.

And yet, behind a flashy bar filled with more illegal substances than an Enforcer Station's Evidence Room, was a dirty door that blended almost completely with the wall, but that hid the entrance to an unmapped large level of corridors and rooms under the street, where those that disagreed with the Caste System, the Functionalist Law or that had been forced to disappear found a safe haven, making a living of clandestine gladiatorial matches, either by fighting, repairing, crafting weapons or acting as contacts.

Before Megatron rose, got rid of the manager, and created an even more law-breaking organization under the cover of the secretly Senate-condoned but prosecuted fights.

For a long time, that world under the wings of illegality was a speck of hope, something worth risking detection for.

Then, it had become a pleasant memory to be revisited when the glaringly bright offices and Senatorial meetings became too much, a dark place to soothe his frayed being when the spotlight became too shiny.

And then, after his world was consumed by greed and insatiable power-hunger, the little and overcrowded hole in the ground had become home.

A home lighted by shiny holographic projections of pieces on a polished silver board.

A blue servo reaches for them now, and, as it did hundreds of thousands of vorn ago, it doesn't hesitate to push a flickering Mobile Weapon past the line of Tread Rollers as if they aren't there.

Back then, Soundwave had just tilted his helm and explained why the move went against the rules, before the piece was pushed back to let the Flier try again.

Now, he tilts his helm once more, but his visor shines in amusement.

"Starscream: Cheater." The Cassette Carrier says simply, and the Seeker smiles.

"Why, you wound me, Soundwave. I'm just doing what is best for my troops, and having this precise Mobile Weapon transform to root mode so that it can walk between these two Tread Rollers to reach that position is exactly what is best. It's not my fault there's no holographic representation of that." He answers with his usual knowledgeable tone, and over-sensitive wings feel Megatron's amused chuckle despite the lock.

"Acknowledged." The Communications Officer returns with a nod, just before mimicking Starscream's clearly illegal move.

The Flier just smiles wider before focusing completely on the game, processor working overtime to add the variable this broken rule has now added to the already extensive list, and, as time goes on and more rules are bent or added, like the spot of the terrain that has flicked out becoming a new pit or the glitch that has given wings to one of his rival's Fusion Tanks, he feels his awareness of his surroundings dull.

And welcomes it.

It means his nervous energy, the charge that made his plating heat up and his dactyls twitch as he fought to restrain himself from ripping someone apart, is being spent and not replaced, allowing him to calm down and to _think_.

And to not remember that he's sitting on the ground in the sunken _Nemesis_' bridge, stranded in an organic planet and with his Trinemates in a precarious situation that may very well end with them both in Autobot servos.

Instead, he finds himself sitting on the floor of a far smaller room, a table at his back where a miner turned gladiator has fallen into recharge, and a bundle of blue, black, purple and white pressed against one side as his brothers rest, with the background bickering of the grounder Cassette twins, and Laserbeak's attentive optics recording their every move and trap sprung and successful and failed assaults for them to review once they go back to thinking about the real conflict going on over their helms, far over the underground levels of the Gate to the Pit commonly known as Kaon.

He's about to finally get rid of the winged Fusion Tank, or get his Rotor Triad blasted away, either could happen with how that couple of Mobile Weapons are positioned, when the Trine bond flares, and he finds both himself and Soundwave jumping to their pedes, board deactivated and subspaced in a reflex movement, and rushing down the corridors to the Repair Bay.

Thundercracker is scuffed and scratched and a bit dented, but fine otherwise, and Skywarp is chatting happily with nothing more than desert dust on him, Ravage as equally undamaged but far dirtier from his scurrying around ventilation shafts or whatever passages he has used to infiltrate the _Ark_.

The first thing Starscream does is punch his blue Trinemate, the sound of metal against metal drowned by the yelp, more startled than pained, from the larger Seeker before the Air Commander breaks into the usual tirade of how _stupid_ and _glitched_ his Right Wing is, and how if he concentrated more during their training flights they wouldn't have to deal with this kind of things, and Thundercracker is quick to point out how his Trineleader would rather hole himself in his quarters with his never-finished experiments and the plans destined to fail than join him and Skywarp when they take leisure flights, and the discussion is ended by another punch, this time a bit more forceful but never really painful, just enough to drive across his point that _he_ is the only one that has the right to scold the other two Seekers, that's why he's the Trineleader.

And then, Thundercracker gives him a small sheepish smile and Starscream is pressing his forehelm against the blue Flier's, chirring and twittering how worried he was and is he really sure everything's alright, that nothing but weapons and comms were disconnected, and how he's going to deactivate him with his bare servos if he ever dares get himself captured again, or even better, he'll shoot him with his null-rays and keep him locked in their shared quarters to make sure he doesn't get in trouble, because having to deal with Skywarp is already bad enough, he doesn't need to have to look after what is supposed to be the only sane mech of their Trine, and Thundercracker clicks soothingly that he's fine and sorry and he will keep a closer look on the black Seeker for the next three orns so that Starscream doesn't have to worry again, black dactyls caressing tense neck cables with feather-light touches.

And then, when he's finally able to move away from his Trinemate, his Right Wing, his _brother_, and not panic about his well-being, he notices Skywarp has been quiet, which can be either bad or _worse_.

The bond is calm and the black Seeker is undamaged and not especially low on Energon, which means he has a favor to ask, most likely prank-related, and thus wants to be in the Air Commander's good graces, or he's waiting to see the end result of a prank.

On the one servo, Starscream hates the pranks, not knowing what is going to happen or when, even if it is something as silly as the other Flier popping suddenly at his back with a 'scary' shriek, but on the other, he's glad Skywarp has managed to keep his happy demeanor and fondness for getting others to smile and laugh, even if his pranking has been tainted by the always active battle protocols, never having enough time to wind down into standby.

However, this time there's no prank, ending or beginning, but rather a… more interesting something to observe while his leader deals with their wayward Trinemate.

"What is _that_ doing here?!" He screeches, pointing, and the creature's dumbstruck look is replaced by wariness as curled black dactyls straighten to reveal the being Skywarp is holding on a servo.

"It's a present TC told me to bring along." The black Seeker answers cheerfully, and smoldering pale red optics fall on the unwelcome intruder while he makes a note to have some _words_ with the blue Flier.

"Huh... Hi?" The human male lets out with a tremulous smile, waving a hand, and Starscream feels all the extra energy he'd managed to get rid off come back with a rush of anger.

Because _that_ is the youngest of the Autobots' human pets, and Autobots _never_ let what they think is theirs be taken away.

"Thunder_cracker_!"

* * *

**AN:** I _did it_! I got a second chapter! And it's all thanks to **DarkShell**, who suggested 'Soundwave teaching Megatron and the Seekers how to play Quattra' (one day I'll manage to write _just_ what was asked instead of having it turn into something else entirely, you just wait...). It didn't turn out like I planned (nothing ever does), but I'm _really_ happy about it (minus the ending, I have the feeling it's missing something). Actually, I think I was more influenced by the 'a bittersweet moment of calm on the _Nemesis_' part of the suggestion, now that I think about it...

If there's something you think you recognize in there, it most likely is not mine, since this story is heavily influenced by IDW's _Megatron: Origins_, with a mix of almost every other continuity (G1, _Prime_, even a bit of the original Marvel comics).

Now, I plan to get next chapter be about what happened on Spike's side of things from the time between the end of the first chapter and him ending in the _Nemesis_. However, I don't know when it'll be ready, mostly because I'm going to stay away from the computer for most of the holidays. Nevertheless, I assure you there will be at least one more chapter, maybe a fourth, depending on how much I can fit in the next one.

Suggestions are welcomed with hot cocoa and a warm spot next to the fire, so don't be shy about sending them my way ^^

Happy holidays!


	3. Cracked Masks

Sitting on a rock in the shadow cast by the volcano to escape the blazing sun, Spike looks down at the hands on his lap without really seeing them.

Instead, he sees blue all around.

The sky above, the sea below.

_"Give me a hand, Spike!"_

He'd been so happy to be able to help his father in his job…

And then, giant robots landed on the oilrig.

They hadn't given them a chance to talk before they started throwing stuff at them.

But, instead of killing them, the Decepticons had just thrown them to the sea.

Was it because they didn't think them worthy of their time?

Spike and Sparkplug hadn't thrown pipes at them, but the teenager feels as bad as if he'd done so.

They hadn't given them a chance to _explain_.

_So what? They're Decepticons._

That doesn't sound as reassuring as it should.

What does it _mean_ to be a Decepticon?

The sound of footsteps makes him look up, in time to see Jazz walk out of the entrance.

"Hey there, Spike. What're you doing?" The saboteur asks, cheerful as always.

The teenager doesn't manage even a forced smile, instead letting out a tremulous breath as he looks away.

"Spike? You alright there, little buddy?"

"No. Not really."

"Do I need to take you to a Medic?" And the fact that Jazz asks instead of just doing tells the boy that the TIC knows it's not a physical issue.

"No. I just… What's your function?" Blue visor flashes paler at that as the mech stares at the human in surprise before kneeling down in front of him.

"I'm the Autobot Third in Command and Head of Special Operations."

"That's not what I asked."

Jazz turns serious, and if he could talk, Spike would have taken back his words.

"Tell me the whole story."

"I don't know what that story is anymore." He whispers, and the saboteur's visor darkens.

The teenager almost flinches away when the Autobot stands, but he does let out a yelp when he's suddenly grabbed by a black servo.

The grip is gentle and firm, but the face looking down at him is still a deadly serious one.

"Be quiet now." Jazz whispers, and it's only then that Spike realizes he's whimpering.

No. No, that's wrong. The Autobots are good, they're his friends. He shouldn't be scared to be in Jazz's hands.

Yet the knot in his stomach only tightens as they make their way to a place the teenager has only seen twice.

Jazz's office.

Contrary to popular belief, it's neatly organized and bare, even more than Prowl's, because the Tactician at least has some datapads on the shelves.

This room is almost clinically clean, sterile.

Cold.

That's only half the reason for his shivering when he's let down on the table after the door locks at their back.

"Jazz…?"

"Easy, little one. I just want to ask a couple of questions." When Spike's eyes widen in dread, the saboteur smiles like his usual self and sits down in the chair behind the desk, just in front of the human. "No need for that look, kiddo. Just curious about that thing you asked me outside."

"Why couldn't you answer there?"

"'Cause there are cameras. Here, it's total privacy. Now, why did you ask about my function?"

Not reassured by those words, the teenager finds himself taking a step back, fingers nervously fidgeting in front of his chest.

"I went to the brig. Gears and Huffer were playing Quattra. And Thundercracker—"

_"You don't know how to play?"_

_"I shouldn't."_

"Thundercracker said Seekers don't know how to play Quattra, because it's not their function. And Skyfire said the same, that as a Shuttle, his function is transport and deep space exploration."

"That's not quite right." Spike's body sags with relief at those words as he smiles up at a relaxed Jazz. "A Shuttle's function is just transport."

Dread slams with enough strength to make his knees buckle, and the human finds himself sitting numbly on the desk.

"What?"

"Skyfire's function includes deep space exploration 'cause he got a special permit. Was cheaper to just send a mech than two."

"_What_?"

Jazz's smile doesn't vanish, but Spike feels cold anyway.

"Everyone's shape serves a purpose, and everyone's purpose is to be a cog in our grand society, to power all progress, spirituality, and value in order to transform them from their subjective form into a reality of function. Or, as you humans would say, we're all cogs in the wheel of life." The saboteur explains, smile turning to a wide smirk at his last words. "It just so happens that sometimes, one mech can serve more than one purpose, which is why Skyfire has a permit for deep space exploration."

"You mean you're… _fated_ to be… what you are?"

"Yup. Builders build, Medics repair, and all that. That's the difference between you static organics and us."

"Static?"

"Non-transforming. You can do whatever you want because you just need the training, but we are _built_ to do what we do. So that's what we do. Granted, the war has messed some things, but we've managed to keep the balance."

"Is that why you don't make your own music?"

"Pardon?"

"You always play human songs, you never… never hum, or whistle _anything_ that hasn't been done first." Spike explains with growing anxiety, but Jazz just keeps smiling.

"'Cause that's not my function."

"Then _what_ is your function?!"

Silence.

Jazz's smile stays in place, but his visor darkens, and the teenager has the feeling he hasn't crossed a line, but run it over with a bulldozer.

"I am the Autobot Third in Command and Head of Special Operations."

"And before?" He whispers, half of his brain begging his mouth to keep quiet while the other half is crying for more.

"In layman terms?" And he recognizes the out for what it is, the last chance to pull away before—

A sharp pinging sound fills the room and Spike bolts upright with a scared shriek.

"Hey, easy, kiddo. Come on in, it's open!" Jazz calls with his usual cheeriness, as if nothing had happened, and Prowl walks inside as the door swishes aside.

He gives the trembling human a curious look, doorwings twitching, as he steps inside, and there's an almost inaudible click as the door locks at his back.

"Spike. Jazz. Am I interrupting?" He asks calmly, stopping just in front of the desk, and the saboteur waves a servo to indicate the unoccupied chairs, all the while smiling and completely relaxed.

"Nah, just telling some stories."

"In your office."

"Didn't want to get scolded by slacking on the job." The Tactician gives the other white and black mech a deadpanned look, but takes a datapad seemingly out of nowhere and hands it over.

"Somehow, I don't believe that. However, I will take advantage of the situation. That is the basics of Prime's proposed plan of action in regards to the Decepticon's release." The SIC explains, and Jazz hums in acknowledgement as he takes the item and flicks it on, visor intently observing the alien writing as Prowl turns his attention to where the teenager is trying to stop shaking, still sitting on the tabletop. "Are you damaged?"

"What?"

"You're shivering. Ambient temperature is within the usual parameters and nowhere close to eliciting such a reaction. So, your tremors are either a result of damage, either frame or processor-wise, or an emotional reaction, likely shock or fear. As thus, I will repeat my question. Are you damaged?"

Suddenly aware of the mech sitting at his back and feeling a glowing blue visor fixed on him despite there being a datapad in the way, Spike shudders more violently, but plasters a big smile on his face that he hopes it's not too obviously fake.

"No, I'm just fine. Just been outside in the sun for a bit, so now it feels a bit chilly in here." He answers cheerfully, and knows he's not fooling anyone when Prowl's icy optics sharpen, doorwings moving slightly upwards.

"Your core and peripheral temperature readings are stable and within optimal levels, the contrast with the environmental readings not enough to justify your trembling. You are lying." Something sharp pierces the boy's chest, but those accusing blue optics move to something over his head— "Jazz, what happened?"

"Found the kid outside looking all blue and asking weird questions, so I took him here to chat calmly. Turns out it was just a misunderstanding, some kind of horror story the Decepticon managed to get him to believe was real. Guess the shock just hasn't worn out yet."

Spike's eyes prickle, and he knows it isn't just by them being wider than ever before.

He can't see Jazz, being that he's still sitting in his desk chair and the teenager has his back to him, but he can hear the easygoing smile, the disregarding plating shrug, the wave of a servo telling the other mech not to worry, that he can take care of things.

He knows the saboteur is sitting as relaxed as ever, acting as friendly and cool as any other time, and that is far more terrifying than anything else he has ever experienced, seen or been told about, even more than the realization that things aren't what they look like with the Cybertronian.

Because Jazz is lying to his face and, if he hadn't known that's what is happening, Spike would have never realized it.

How many times has he been played the fool? How many times has he been told of the cruelty and ruthlessness of the Decepticons when it is this mech, this small, in comparison, black and white cool cat with the mix of human and Cybertronian slang and the curiosity of a child, the one that can, and will, be responsible for the most horrific deeds and never lose the easygoing smile on his face?

The teenager had laughed, back in that nuclear facility almost a month ago, when Jazz had popped around a corner with a childish 'boo' and the armed Reflector component had jumped so badly that he'd lost his weapon before scrambling away with a 'girlish' shriek.

Was that terror justified?

_"You are being deceived!"_

And he suddenly realizes where he is, in the unmonitored office of the Head of Special Operations, a mech able to have even the fearsome and thrice dangerous Seekers on edge, after just revealing he knows something he apparently wasn't supposed to, and his only chance at getting out of this unscathed is being reassured by the one being he trusts most that he doesn't need to worry about Spike.

And the boy can't talk, can't say anything, do anything, because he can feel the sharp blue visor locked on his back, unwavering and undeterred by the report or the other mech.

Prowl will simply turn around to go back to his job, unaware that he's abandoning the human, and if they ever find a body, it will look like an accident or Decepticon action.

Spike can't even blink, body motionless by the terror gripping him as he stares forwards without really seeing anything.

And then, there's something cool yet warm under his chin, tilting his head up, and when he blinks to focus on uncharacteristically worried blue optics shadowed by a red chevron, he feels hot tears slip down his chilled cheeks.

"Spike? What happened?" The usually serious voice is low and warm and comforting as another white dactyl caresses the side of his face impossibly softly, clearing the tears before more follow. "Jazz, we have to take him to Ratchet. What did _exactly_ happen?"

"I'm going to ask the 'Con myself, I'm telling you. But not now, gotta take care of the kid first."

And a servo presses against his back while dactyls engulf him, and those supporting his face go away—

With a terrified shriek, Spike grabs the retreating metallic fingers as tightly as he can, sobbing in earnest as he clings to his only hope of ever seeing the light of day again.

"What the—?!"

"Whoa, mech! What's—"

"I don't wanna die I don't wanna die I don't wanna—"

A servo tries to grab him again, and he screams once more as he digs his fingers into the joints between phalanges, clutching at whatever cabling he manages to find, but it's useless, he's encased in metal and lifted from the desk—

And pressed against a warm surface rumbling soothingly, the dactyls he's clinging to for dear life coming with him.

"Spike, calm down. No one is going to hurt you." Prowl's voice rumbles from somewhere over his head, echoing along the purring engine, but the teenager just lets out a louder sob. "Spike—"

"I'm sorry! I didn't know! Please, I don't wanna die!"

"Hey, don't look at me. I know as much as you do." Jazz speaks, and he's suddenly there, at his side, too close, and the human lets out a scared cry again—

The servo holding him tightens its grip, moving to shield him better from the outside world, and he feels the Tactician take a step back.

"What did you do."

"What?! Come on, you can't be saying what I think you're—"

"Jazz. What did you _do_."

"Nothing! I just found the kid and brought him here to chat!"

"About what?"

"Huh?"

"_Why_ couldn't you talk about whatever it is somewhere else? The Rec Room, outside, anyplace else? Why the only room in the whole ship that is completely unmonitored?"

The silence, broken only by the teenager's slowly calming sobs, is more chilling than the Arctic winds.

"You're my friend, Prowler. I don't want to hurt you."

Spike stops sobbing, stops breathing, feels his very heart stop pumping, because Jazz sounds _serious_.

"Why did you bring him here." The voice is firm, an order, but the mech still takes a step back, and even though he can't hear any other pede-steps, the teenager knows it's because the smaller one has moved closed.

"Give me the human, take your datapad, and delete the memory of being here."

"_Why_ did you bring him here."

"I'm not going to say it again, Prowl. I'll really hate having to hurt you, so just give me the human and go away."

_The human._

Not _Spike_ or _the kid_ or _my little buddy_.

**_The human._**

"Jazz—"

Prowl tenses and suddenly there's a loud crashing of metal against metal and the teenager cries out in fear as he's being pulled down, the impact of the servos holding him against yet another metallic surface jarring him, but the dactyls cushion him against anything worse than having his breath knocked out and his shoulder feeling like bruising.

Silence.

Lying in the suddenly lax hold of white servos, no longer hearing the purring engine, Spike feels dread settle in his chest and almost literally rip out everything else, leaving only an emptiness that seems to reach for him, threatening to swallow him whole, to pull him into those pits of despair and hopelessness.

The hiss of hydraulics in a tired sigh is almost inaudible, but easily heard in the quietness.

"Sorry about that, Prowl. You gave me no choice."

Horror gripping him to the point even the tears freeze in his eyes, the human can only lie there, shaking harshly, as he feels the dactyls around him being pulled back.

No.

No, it can't…

"Hey, easy there, little buddy. No need to be so scared."

And that does it, the comforting words spoken with that warm and familiar voice that was all _fun_ and _safety_ and _cool_ barely five minutes before, that's what snaps him out of his terror induced paralysis and sends Spike scrambling to his feet with a shriek, jumping over motionless black forearms just lying on the ground—

Strong yet mindful black dactyls curl around him, pulling him up and away from the floor, and the boy screams his lungs out in a long and horrified screech.

"Hey, it's fine, no need to shout. Calm down, my mech. I don't want to hurt you."

Terror gripping him once more, Spike freezes at those last words.

Shaking madly, he turns his head minutely, and tears start flowing once more when he sees the Autobot Second in Command lying on his side on the ground, optics black and mouth slightly open, completely motionless, doorwings angled strangely as they drop to the floor.

"Prowl…" He sobs, reaching with one hand even as Jazz pulls him closer, and thus farther from the body. "_Prowl_!"

"He's just in stasis lock, little buddy. No need for the dramatics."

Breathing quickening, he starts writhing in the black servos' grip, still reaching for the Doorwinger.

No, no, no no nononono—

"That's your fault, you know."

And everything stops once more, the saboteur no longer playing friendly, voice chilling the boy to his core.

"P-Prowl…"

"If you had played along, this wouldn't have happened." One servo releases its grip, the other clenching tight enough to keep the human immobile without harming, as the Head of Spec Ops unplugs a cable he hadn't noticed was there from the back of the Tactician's neck. "I really didn't want to do that."

"W-Wha-at d-did y-you—"

"I modified his memories of what just happened. When he reboots, he'll think he suffered a crash from one of my 'illogical' and 'bizarre' jokes, and I'll be reprimanded for that, maybe get a wrench from Ratchet for 'never thinking things through'."

And there's something there, in the tone of that serious voice…

Spike stiffens with a gasp.

"T-This is-s-sn't…"

"The first time? No, it's not." The human whimpers. "I hate doing that, but you gave me no choice. Fortunately, you won't be here when Prowl reactivates. I'd really hate having to hurt my friend again."

"Y-You… You're a _monster_!" He shouts, clenching the dactyl around his torso as if that would accomplish something, but not turning around.

"I know."

There's a smile in those two simple words.

Spike lets out a sobbed gasp, shaking once more.

"W-Why?"

"Because that's what I was created to be."

_"Then _what_ is your function?!"_

_"I am the Autobot Third in Command and Head of Special Operations."_

_"And before?"_

"I'd really have preferred you didn't find out about this whole thing. At least not like that." Jazz muses calmly, his voice once more nonchalant and even slightly sheepish, as if the teenager had just walked in to catch him preparing him a surprise party, instead of… "You know, this really complicates things now. I can't let you go away like nothing after all this."

Spike freezes, unable to look away from the unconscious Autobot on the floor before he's carefully put inside a box that seems to have come out of nowhere.

He quickly moves away from the retreating black servo, the saboteur not giving him a look as he moves away from what he can see from inside the box, humming absentmindedly under his breath.

"What to do, what to do… Got to find some way to get rid of you with arousing any suspicions, but you have such a fondness for loud screams…" The boy sobs, covering his mouth with a hand, as he falls to his knees and moves to the corner farthest from the Head of Spec Ops' voice and the sound of clanging metal. "Nuh-huh, can't have you shouting, that won't do… and it has to be quick so I can get back here before Prowl reboots."

"M-My dad will come for me!" He shouts, unable to keep that inside or quiet, if just to give himself a glimmer of hope by hearing the words spoken out loud.

The sounds outside his box stop.

"Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me, little buddy." The voice is so cheerful that Spike's stomach lurches, threatening to spill its contents. "Hmm… Actually, that gives me a nice idea… Quick, clean, and free of any suspicion. Yeah, no one will ever think I planned it all along. And it would make for a nice tool." The words are purred in satisfaction, and the teenager pulls his knees against his chest as curls tighter into a shaking terrified ball. "You're really a big help, my mech!"

"Let me go!" He shouts with a sob, tears once more flowing down his cheeks. "Let me go, you _monster_! I thought you were my friends, but you're nothing more than a bunch of-of—of _monsters_!"

"Now, now. That's not a nice thing to say. Prowler's a decent mech." And Jazz suddenly leans over the box, visor a dark blue that would have been soothing in any other situation, a small smile on his lips.

"Thundercracker was right."

"About?"

"You… You lied to me! To all of us! We are being deceived!"

The smile vanishes with a flash of pale blue, visor becoming icy and as inexpressive as the mech it belongs too.

Slowly, a humorless dark smirk starts to grow on Jazz's faceplate, and Spike presses tighter against the walls of the box.

"You are being deceived." The mech repeats, voice soft and with a strange undertone that the teenager can't identify, sounding more like he's quoting rather than speaking. "Yes, this will work just fine." And a black servo reaches for him.

The boy shouts and kicks and tries to move away, but the corner he's in makes it impossible for him to escape, so he finds himself in the saboteur's careful yet firm grip with a dactyl covering his lower face to keep him silent.

"Well, we better get going, we don't have all the time in the universe." The Head of Spec Ops chirps with his usual—fake—cheerfulness, his free servo grabbing the box and making it disappear with a twist of the wrist. "Be back soon, Prowler. Don't get in trouble while I'm gone, 'kay?" He adds, patting the shoulder of the mech now carefully arranged in a chair, slumped in it as if he'd fallen asleep, and so unlike the Tactician that the human whimpers loudly, tears once more filling his eyes. "Ah ah ah. No noises now, little buddy. We want to keep things quiet, don't we? No reason to give poor Prowl more work for when he reboots, right?"

And with his usual bouncy yet fluid steps, Jazz walks out of his office with the terrified human in his grasp, music blasting from his speakers even before the door closes and locks at his back.

He knows they walk past other mechs, but the way he's being held keeps Spike's face hidden from view, and the music and constant chatter from the saboteur muffle any whimpers he can manage and gives the illusion of normality to any that doesn't look too close.

And no one does, why would they? It's just Jazz, their cheerful and friendly Third in Command with the cool tricks and almost impossible moves, simply chatting with their youngest human acquaintance, like many other times before, and while it's not usually that Spike is being carried around, there's no reason to worry, he's with Jazz.

Jazz will take care of things.

"You know, I really don't like doing what I did." Startled at the words, especially when he can hear that very same voice babbling about the latest music hits, the teenager tilts his head up as much as he can, meeting a happy wide smile under a contrastingly serious visor.

A recording. It has to be. Jazz is playing a recording of himself babbling so that no one will pay attention to what he's truly speaking.

The boy starts to tremble with growing dread, whimpering again, and there's a flash of something unidentifiable in that azure band.

"Prowl's a good mech, and he's not the only one. But he's a really unlucky one, he managed to get in the wrong place at the wrong time so many times that it's just his unluckiness that keeps him active just so that he can keep being unlucky. He's a really good friend, though he's too clever and nosy for his own good. I've had to knock him into stasis so many times… Heh. But I guess he wouldn't be the Prowler we all know and love if he wasn't like that, wouldn't he?" Confused and more than a little terrified at the obvious madness, Spike can only huddle down in the tight grip he's being kept in. "You're a good kid too. Got the spark in the right place. So young, and malleable…" A whimper and a sharp tug, but Jazz doesn't even flinch. "You're just as unlucky as Prowl, but even more trouble. I can't modify your memories like I do his." The sob is muffled by the dactyl, and despite the prickling, there are no more tears to be shed. "I know you think I'm a cruel sadistic glitch, but there are just some things we can't do anything about. However, I _can_ make sure you get taken care of." He tries to shake his head, to scream, but to no avail, the grip is too strong despite its softness, and there is no one around to hear his muffled sounds, even if there was no music to cover them. "You're right, Spike. You are being deceived. So, I'll give you one last task. Ask them to tell you about the Manifest, and tell them that the wind cares not for the shape of the wings." A door swishes open, and the recording of Jazz's voice stops playing to be replaced by the real deal. "Hey guys! Mind stepping out? I have something I need to talk with our _guest_." The saboteur purrs, dangerous sharp grin in place, and there's only the sounds of pede-steps followed by two shadows slipping past them before the door swishes closed.

Silence.

"What do you want."

Spike's eyes widen.

He knows that voice.

"Sheesh, no small talk? You're a boring one, Thundercracker."

"I have no time for your processor games, _Autobot_."

"On the contrary. We have all the time in the universe. Well, as long as you manage to hang on, that is."

There's a scuffing sound as the Seeker steps away, a flash of pale blue—

A loud clanging, and Jazz whirls around so fast that the teenager's head swims, barely managing to catch some kind of popping sound, a roar and a snarl before the grip on him vanishes and he's flying through the air, letting out a startled yelp as flashes of energy shots slice the air—

"Skywarp, catch him!"

Metal around him, tighter than he's used to, almost painful, before he's shoved against something soft and strong bonds wrap all around him—

Another pop of displaced air accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation that makes his head swim in and out of focus—

Silence.

No, not silence. Just the absence of shooting, replaced by happy chirping and calm rumbling, along a tired voice he _knows_ he's heard somewhere, and there's cotton being stuffed in his cranium through his ears as he feels the pressure increase uncomfortably—

The ropes keeping him immobile vanish with a click, and he doesn't have the time to even yelp before he finds himself lying on his back on a black servo far larger than the one he was in before, looking up into silver faceplates surrounded by black with two curious bright red optics staring at him.

A door swishes open and he rolls around to turn to the sound, black dactyls curling claw-like so that he doesn't fall.

Purple metal all around, a flash of lime green almost out of the corner of his eye, and Starscream and Soundwave rushing through the doors of the _Nemesis_' Repair Bay as the human slowly gets to his knees.

As soon as he sees Thundercracker sitting on a bed, the Air Commander steps up to him and punches him in the head, breaking into an angry tirade of clicking and whirring, punching the blue Seeker again as he says something back—

And then he clutches the slightly larger Flier tightly as he presses their foreheads together, red optics going black, and the Cybertronian being spoken turns into a more melodic chirring and twittering, soft cooing clicks being given as answer as Thundercracker caresses his distraught Trineleader's neck.

_"I know you think I'm a cruel sadistic glitch, but there are just some things we can't do anything about. However, I _can_ make sure you get taken care of."_

Could it be...

_"You're a good kid too. Got the spark in the right place."_

No, he would never…

_"Let me go! Let me go, you _monster_! I thought you were my friends, but you're nothing more than a bunch of-of—of _monsters_!"_

_"Now, now. That's not a nice thing to say. Prowler's a decent mech."_

But that would mean…

_"Everyone's shape serves a purpose, and everyone's purpose is to be a cog in our grand society, to power all progress, spirituality, and value in order to transform them from their subjective form into a reality of function. Or, as you humans would say, we're all cogs in the wheel of life."_

Jazz…

_"Y-You… You're a _monster_!"_

_"I know."_

_"W-Why?"_

_"Because that's what I was created to be."_

He was…

_"You're right, Spike. You are being deceived."_

… protecting him.

"What is _that_ doing here?!" Starscream screeches, pointing, and the human's dumbstruck look is replaced by wariness as curled black dactyls straighten to let the Decepticon see him better.

"It's a present TC told me to bring along." The black Seeker answers cheerfully, and smoldering pale red optics fall on the boy.

"Huh… Hi?" He lets out with a tremulous smile, waving a hand, and the Second in Command shakes with visible rage.

"Thunder_cracker_!"

* * *

**AN:** If anyone needs me, I'll be hiding under a rock somewhere _faaaar_ away...

I'm not going to try to make excuses for this, because, sincerely, I have none. It happened. The end. I'm proud of this chapter because it behaved, played more or less like I had planned it, but... _Jazz_. I love and fear him, because he's just... _Jazz_. I swear I'm not trying to write a Shattered Glass thing here. He just... was being _Jazz_. So, while the chapter, overall, went like I had planned, the details didn't. Meaning, the conversations and how _exactly_ Spike ended in the brig.

_Everyone's shape serves a purpose_: From IDW.

So... yeah. Gonna go hide. Now. Far, _far_ away. At least until after the holidays. Slagging brain, giving me inspiration bursts so sudden... oh, and, huh... happy holidays?


	4. Fighting Destiny

Starscream's shrieks are giving him a headache, but Spike knows better than to try to say anything.

Actually, he knows it's better if he doesn't attract attention to himself.

So, letting the Decepticon Air Commander shout at his Trinemate is better than have him ask the teenager why he's shaking when he has no physiological reason to.

And he _is_ shaking, and not only because it's cooler in the _Nemesis_ than in the _Ark_.

He's with Decepticons, the guys that want to suck the Earth dry of energy sources to conquer the galaxy.

But yet again, the Autobots were the ones that were supposed to defend humanity and stop the Decepticons once and for all to save their planet and all others.

He knows now that things aren't as they seem.

_"You're right, Spike. You are being deceived."_

How can he, when both sides tell him he's been played?

"You, human!" The boy startles, looking up into Starscream's blazing optics, and gulps. "What the Pit did you do to end in the brig with the saboteur?"

The saboteur.

Jazz.

_"I'm not going to say it again, Prowl. I'll really hate having to hurt you, so just give me the human and go away."_

"I—I—"

"Well?"

_"If you had played along, this wouldn't have happened."_

"I—I—We were just talking! We were just talking and—and—"

_"Hey, easy there, little buddy. No need to be so scared."_

"I—I don't know what to think anymore!" He shouts curling into himself and feeling renewed tears slip down his cheeks. "Why did you have to tell me that?! _Why_?!"

"S—Screamer, it's _leaking_! What do I _do_?!" Skywarp squeaks, before pushing the teenager into his Trineleader's servos. "There, you're the bright one, you take care of it!" And there's a pop of displaced air, and when the boy looks up again from between sky blue dactyls, the blurred purple Repair Bay is lacking a black Seeker.

"Fear the Elite of the Decepticons." The Air Commander scoffs sarcastically before pulling the human up to look at him. "Now, _answer_."

"I don't know! Th-Thundercracker said you're not sup-pposed to know how to play Quattra and then J-Jazz killed Prowl and he said he was going to k-kill me too and—"

"Wait, _wait_! Did you say your Third killed your Second?!" The Flier cuts, dumbfounded and… alarmed? "The saboteur deactivated the tactician?"

"I—I don't know! I-It looked like that but Jazz said he h-hadn't but I d-don't know what to believe anymore!" He stutters, unable to stop his tears as he curls into himself, sobbing. "I don't know…"

"Did he go gray?" Startled by the softness of the usually high-pitched voice, Spike looks up as the servos move to more carefully hold the teenager. "The Doorwinger's color scheme, did it turn gray?"

"N-No, he… he was very still and his eyes were black b-but he was still black a-and white…"

"Then he wasn't deactivated." Starscream answers calmly, nodding to one of his arms. "This isn't paint, they're color nanites. Skin cells. And they require a constant energy input to keep functioning, so, when we deactivate, they're the first to go offline and turn gray. If he didn't go gray, Prowl is still active."

Against his own will, the boy relaxes with a sob and a nod, hugging himself tighter.

"J-Jazz said—said he hadn't deactivated him but… but I don't know…"

"What happened?"

Closing his eyes and forcing himself not to think about where he is, Spike takes deep breaths until his tears have stopped and his trembling is barely a soft shivering.

"I went to the brig. Gears and Huffer were playing Quattra and Gears did something that Huffer thought was cheating. I asked Thundercracker about it, and he said you aren't supposed to know how to play because it isn't your function so I—I asked Skyfire about it." The soft background whirring, tingling and clicking stop, but the teenager focuses back to his words, knowing he'll fall apart if he sees the situation he's in. "He said the same. And then, Jazz—" His voice breaks and his shivering returns, but he keeps pushing the words out, even if they're a bit strangled. "Jazz said it too, and—"

_Jazz's smile stays in place, but his visor darkens, and the teenager has the feeling he hasn't crossed a line, but run it over with a bulldozer._

"And then Prowl came in, and Jazz _lied_." The sobs begin anew, the air feeling colder all of a sudden. "He said all that about function was some horror story, he—he _lied_. How many other times has he lied too?" He hiccups, though he quickly settles down as he forces himself away from all the dark worst case scenarios. "I—I was scared. So I t-tried to lie too, but Prowl _knew_ I was lying and—and I thought I was going to die…"

_"If you had played along, this wouldn't have happened."_

"J-Jazz attacked Prowl when he tried to protect me and—and said it was all my fault… that I should've p-played along…" He whimpers, curling further into himself, tears once more falling uncontrollably down his cheeks. "He d-did something to Prowl, m-modified his m-memories… He said it wasn't the f-first t-time and—and then he took me to the brig and _no one noticed_… He said—"

_"I know you think I'm a cruel sadistic glitch, but there are just some things we can't do anything about. However, I _can_ make sure you get taken care of."_

"He was going to _get rid of me_… But… I don't—don't know what he meant… He also said to—to ask about a Manifest—"

The metal he's on twitches, and Spike looks up into red optics.

The seriousness on that faceplate is even scarier than the fact it's Starscream's.

"Thundercracker, I want every detail of your capture, even the smallest one." The Seeker orders, and the blue one curls into himself meekly as he nods. "Hook, not a word to anyone else."

"Sure." The Constructicon, until now quietly leaning against a wall, shrugs nonchalantly.

And the Flier starts moving, Soundwave easily falling into step a bit behind him, soon leaving behind the doors of the Repair Bay.

"Prioritize capture of the tactician, unharmed. We need his processor more than ever now."

"Agreed."

"However, I need you to concentrate on the saboteur."

"Agreed. Query: Destination." The Communications Officer asks in his usual emotionless and toneless manner, and, finally, Starscream reacts.

By smirking.

Spike curls further into himself, scared and not knowing what to think.

"The bridge, of course."

"Query—"

"Oh, come on, it's _easy_. He wants to know about the Manifest? We tell him about the Manifest. And by 'we'…" Soundwave's visor pales in realization, and the Seeker chuckles with a purr-like sound. "The Decepticon Manifest, or simply the Manifest, is an essay book written by a miner of Tarn with the title _After the _Ark_: Nominus Prime and the Illusion of Progress_, and is what motivated the first rebels, later known as Decepticons, to turn against the government of Cybertron and their functionalist regime."

"The—What—Wait. The _Ark_?" The boy manages to let out, flabbergasted, and receives a nod.

"Autobots are functionalists. They always follow a certain scheme. So, all their deep space ships of that class are called _Ark_. The one you know is the, what, thirty-ninth?"

"Fortieth." Soundwave corrects, and the Flier tilts his head to look at him with slight curiosity. "Thirty-ninth: Destroyed before deployment."

"Ah, I see. Fortieth it is."

The next set of doors opening in front of them are those of the bridge, and Spike finds himself surrounded by sky blue metal as the Seeker curls his dactyls, though that doesn't stop him from seeing the Reflector components at the monitors and Megatron on his throne.

"Starscream, Soundwave. I assume the mission was successful?" The Warlord asks, his rumbling voice echoing in the teenager's bones as his holder steps closer to the gray mech.

"More than successful. We got a present." And the hand around him opens, revealing him to piercing red optics and a growing dark smirk.

"Excellent. This will be a good bargaining tool—"

"No. A present." The Flier repeats, more forcefully, as he stops next to the throne and dumps the boy on an armrest. "Ask him." He orders, looking down at the terrified and utterly confused human. "About what we talked in the corridor. Ask him." He adds, gesturing to the Decepticon leader, and Spike balks.

"Wha—What is…" He clears his throat a couple of times and finally looks down at his hands, unable to talk while staring into Megatron's depreciating yet piercing gaze. "What is the Manifest?"

The shriek of metal makes the teenager curl with a pained shout, covering his ears and closing his eyes tightly.

When nothing else follows, he risks looking—and gulps in mounting fear at the gouges left behind the Warlord's dactyls on the other armrest, a tightly-clenched fist now resting on it.

"Apparently, the humans don't know about functionalism. Or, at least, this one doesn't. So, there you have it. Now, if you'll excuse me—" And Starscream steps towards the door, a smirk on his faceplate that speaks of nothing good, away from the throne, Megatron and a terrified Spike. "—one of my Seekers needs a report wrought out of them. Good luck with the teaching, Megatron of Tarn!"

And the door closes behind his wings, only silence in the room… but not on the human's head.

That word…

_Tarn._

He's heard that before…

_… __from Tarn…_

He'd know, because it's an obvious alien word that isn't spoken with mechanical sounds…

_The Decepticon Manifest, or simply the Manifest, is an essay book written by a miner of Tarn…_

"You wrote an _essay book_?"

And Spike realizes that silence isn't the worst there could be, because the almost complete lack of sound, disrupted only by his puffs of breath and the beating of his heart in his ears, is far worse.

"Of all the things you could ask…" Megatron finally groans, covering his faceplate with a hand, and the teenager curls further into himself. "Yes, I wrote an essay book. I can read and write and, against Autobot wishes, I can _think_ for myself instead of following their every word. Satisfied?"

There's no right way to answer.

Whether he answers positively or in a negative, he'll earn the warlord's rage at some kind of perceived insult against his intelligence.

And if he stays silent, it'll be taken as a lack of respect.

"I—I—Yes-No! I mean…" He whimpers under the heating glare, and curls further into himself, willing everything to be nothing more than a nightmare, and to please— "—please wake up, _wake up_…"

"What is its malfunction?" Megatron scoffs, and Spike winces.

"Human: Terrified." Soundwave's monotone answers, and the teenager can feel the warlord move by the soft vibrations of the armrest he's on.

"Slagging Starscream… Take the flesh-bag back to him. The glitch obviously started explaining, so let him finish it."

"As you command." And steps approach, going silent before warm servos envelop him.

Uncaring about who they belong to, Spike holds tight to the dactyls surrounding him cocoon-like.

"I wanna go home… _please_…"

"Human: Calm down. Danger: Nonexistent."

A beep, and Soundwave's steps stop.

"Lord Megatron, call from the _Ark_." One of the Reflector components explains, and the teenager freezes.

"Is it now. Soundwave, wait. Let's see what is it that Prime wants this time…" The warlord purrs, and, scared, the human presses against the dactyls under his legs, despite the fact he shouldn't be visible in the Cassette Carrier's cupped servos. "Ah, Optimus Prime. To what do I owe the _honor_ of this call?" The Decepticon leader scoffs, clearly mocking, and Spike tilts his head to better hear.

"You attacked us, Megatron. Infiltrated my ship and damaged one of my mechs."

One of…

Jazz was the only mech in the brig when the Decepticons escaped.

Despite everything, the boy feels his blood run cold with worry.

"You wouldn't be looking for an apology, would you? Because let me remind you exactly where my ship is and whose fault it was that it was placed here." The warlord snarls in answer, and the teenager risks looking up.

Soundwave is staring at the screen, seemingly ignoring the human in his servos.

"I am not, Megatron. You are incapable of such mercies." Optimus answers, serious, and, for an instant, Spike hopes.

He sounds the same as always, the same righteous and strong leader that worries about his men and the planet Earth, the same mech Spike taught how to play basketball.

"Spare me your disgusting talks of love and peace, Prime. What is it that you want?"

"I want the return of Spike Witwicky, unharmed."

The teenager moves, slowly, just the necessary bit to be peeking over Soundwave's dactyls.

And there Optimus is, standing tall and proud on the screen, optics a serious sharp blue.

He's still the same, he's still the same… Please, let him be the same…

"And what makes you think I have that pathetic creature aboard my ship?" Megatron asks with slight disdain, looking over a servo like the issue wasn't important.

The Autobot leader tenses, gaze sharpening.

"Our security cameras in the brig showed your Decepticons taking him. If you have harmed him in any way…"

"Optimus!" Spike cries, straightening but clenching Soundwave's dactyls so as to not fall, and all optics are suddenly on him.

"Spike! Are you alright? Did they harm you?" The Autobot asks, worry and relief in his stance and optics, and the teenager feels tears fall once more.

"Jazz attacked Prowl!" Blue flashes paler, startled, and the boy sobs a bit before rubbing a fist against his eyes to clear them. "And… And then said he was going to kill me…" Megatron is the one looking startled now, optics a pale orange, and the servos he's on tighten almost comfortingly. "Optimus, I… I don't know what's going on anymore."

"Get me Jazz." His neck gives a sharp pang of pain as he lifts his head a bit too fast, but that is nothing compared to the anger on the Prime's optics.

"The _Autobots_ tried to deactivate you?" Megatron muses out loud, and the teenager gives him a slightly defiant glare, the mech onscreen giving him the strength to do so, as well as an anchor.

"Human's action: Mistake." Soundwave whispers, and, confused, the boy turns to him. "Human: Will witness Autobots' true nature."

"What—" The sound of a door opening cuts him short, and the human quickly turns back to the screen.

With Ratchet at his side and armor full of deep scratches, Jazz walks into the brig with a smile.

"Hey Prime, you called?" And then, blue visor meets brown eyes, and the laidback attitude turns to sharp relief. "Spike! You alright, little buddy?" Unable to take a step back, the teenager tries nevertheless, which means he ends leaning back, away from the screen, to the saboteur's bafflement. "Spike?"

"Jazz. You are accused of attacking a superior officer and threatening the deactivation of an ally. What do you have to say to that?" Prime's voice is a deep rumble, almost a growl, and, startled, the human tenses.

A second later, the saboteur composes himself, standing at attention, though with a dark and sharp smirk on his faceplate.

"And who's accusing me? Come on, Prime. Yes, I should've checked my words so that Prowl wouldn't have crashed, but that can be hardly called an attack."

"Spike is the one accusing you." Jazz snorts at that, smirk sharpening even more.

"And you're going to trust him over me? Please, I'm your Third in Command, your Head of Special Operations. I function to serve you."

And Optimus tilts his helm and nods, and the teenager's world falls apart.

It can't be…

"Spike, Jazz speaks the truth. He would never act against the Autobots or our human allies. However, do not worry. We will get you back, and then we can calmly discus—"

"You are being deceived!"

The silence is so loud that his ears ring.

Facemask and all, Optimus looks dumbstruck, Ratchet seems about to crash, and Jazz—

Jazz is _horrified_.

The Decepticons, on the other hand, are as startled as Prime himself.

"You are all supposed to be cogs in the wheel of life, to be… to be just your function!" He adds, feeling his throat clenching in slight despair. "Is that right?"

"Of course it is."

_Of course._

"No… No, it can't…"

"Everyone's shape serves a purpose, and everyone's purpose is to be a cog in our grand society, to power all progress, spirituality, and value in order to transform them from their subjective form into a reality of function." Optimus recites, calmly, and the teenager can see the Decepticon leader seething from the corner of his eye. "That is how Cybertronian are, how we have been and how we will always will be. It's what rules our being, our very existence. We are created to fulfill a role."

And the world breaks all around him.

"No, we are not." Slowly, Spike turns his head to see Megatron standing up, a snarl on his faceplate. "We are created with a main function, yes, but we are _not_ ruled by it. We are _not_ tools to be arranged according to their shape, we can be anything we so wish."

"Megatron, your glitched belief has brought enough chaos to our society. You would do well to surrender and return to the mines where you belong." The Prime rumbles warningly, and the teenager starts to shake.

"The _mines_? Even if we were to follow the belief that we are just our frame type, I wouldn't be in a mine! Even according to your erroneous functionalism, _this_ is where I belong! I'm a warrior, a protector! Taking care of my fellow Cybertronian is what I shall do, what I was _created_ to do, even if that means standing against our own! What you so religiously worship isn't even true functionalism, like that of Nova Prime, but the corrupted version the Senate and Nominus Prime established to their own benefit!"

"Silence, terrorist. You, who destroyed our government, our very beliefs, have no right to speak the names of our true protectors and guides."

"Reboot your processor, Prime! The Senate _enslaved_ us!"

_"Tell me, do you know who was Abraham Lincoln?"_

It all starts to make an awful lot of sense, all the while making no sense at all, and Spike feels as if his head is going to explode, tears falling down his cheeks non-stop.

The Autobots wish for a government supported by slavery, while the Decepticons rebel against such a regime.

How could the humans ever believe things were black and white?

How could Spike, one of those that has spent so much time around both sides, not see that?

_Because the Autobots are happy. They have their system and follow it with gusto. And the Decepticons are ready to do anything to get what they want._

But yet again, who is it that has the dominant race of the planet they're currently on against them? Who is it that lives in a sunken ship? Who is it that keeps sending energy back to their home world to repair it?

"Oh, God…"

There's no black and white.

Just an awful lot of shades of gray.

And the darkest of them, right now, seems to be at the other side of the screen.

"Release the human, Megatron. This is between Autobots and Decepticons." Prime growls as Spike turns his attention back to them, feeling the servos he's on have shifted to better hold him due to his increased trembling.

"Optimus?" Both leaders go silent, turning to the human shaking pitifully on Soundwave's hold, dry tear tracks on his cheeks. "What are you fighting for?"

"For the restoration of Cybertron."

"And what does that mean?"

"That our planet will be rebuilt, the grand cities of our Golden Age standing once more, for a just Senate to govern our society."

"Just?" Megatron scoffs, optics so pale that they're almost white and fusion cannon whining with charge.

"Yes. We will modify the method of the one prior the war. We have recognized our mistakes, and learned from them. Everyone's shape serves a purpose._ A_ purpose. One. No unworthy frame types shall be allowed to rise further than they belong, nor will individuals be given privileges they don't deserve, for such corrupted and twisted the status quo of our society."

No exceptions.

No Skyfires, who were created to explore but were allowed to expand the gifted mind they had received for the benefit of their society.

Spike pales and falls to his knees, stomach churning—

And, turning to the side, the teenager lets his breakfast fall to the floor of the _Nemesis_' bridge, bile burning his throat, but not being the reason behind his tears.

"Query: Status." Soundwave asks once he's stopped dry-heaving, one servo moving to better hold him while the other releases him, a dactyl softly caressing his back.

"T-They're—They're…"

"Suggestion: Breathe." And after a sob, he does so, slowly calming down before he hyperventilates. "Query: Status."

"They're wrong… The Autobots are—They're _wrong_." He whimpers, and only then does he realize the bridge is silent.

When he looks up, however, Prime is still onscreen, looking sad and worried.

The boy sobs again.

"Spike, are you alright?"

"Shut up! You're crazy! All of you!" He shouts, eyes burning but without any more tears to shed. "I thought you were the good guys, I thought… I thought you fought so that we could be free! So that _you_ could be free!"

"And we are. Your species, your whole planet, it is designed so that one model can take care of many functions. That's how organics work, how sentient organics organize themselves. But we're not organics, Spike, we're created to be what we are. Everyone's shape—"

"Stop! I don't want to hear that! I don't want to hear that ever again!" He shrieks, covering his ears with his hands and shaking his head with his eyes tightly closed. "You… You once said… Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. And you _are_ sentient beings…" He looks up once more, begging, _praying_, that everything will go back to normal, that things haven't been more than a big misunderstanding…

"Yes. And we_ are_ free. But we are free within our function, our purpose. Same as the purpose of the organic coding is to produce further organics, ours is to fulfill our duty, to follow what our shape has determined for us. Within that, as long as both our purposes are fulfilled, we are free. If we do not, we will always be restricted by the need to return to our original being, to be who we were designed to be. There is no freedom in knowing you are not fulfilling your purpose."

Spike shakes his head, horrified.

How could he be so blind to such twisted views?

"You're wrong… You're wrong…"

Optimus lets out a sigh and offlines his optics.

"Is that why you tried to kill the human, Jazz?" He asks almost nonchalantly, and the teenager freezes once more.

_The human._

"He refused to listen when I tried to explain about functionalism. We were to take him to Ratchet, but Prowl crashed, and I thought I could take care of him myself, but—"

"Your function is not to_ think_." And the saboteur freezes as Optimus turns to him.

"Prime, I—"

"Enough. Your function is to serve the Senate and the Prime. Your duty is to protect the Autobot cause. You failed."

And as if a switch had been turned on, Jazz squares into a perfect military pose, emotionless like a statue as Ratchet moves away, not looking at him.

"I failed my function as the tool of the Prime, as the knife in the dark. I failed my Master, for my function is to eliminate any and all threats to Him and His cause, yet one eluded me. Do with me as my Master wishes, for my function has been invalidated. I am for my Master to do as He wishes."

"Bow, Slave." Like a puppet with its strings cut, the saboteur falls to his knees, helm bowed, like the warriors of old. "What good is an assassin that won't kill? What good is a saboteur that won't undermine the enemy's forces? What good are you to me?" And Spike shakes and whimpers silently, because Optimus' tone of voice as he slowly walks around the smaller mech is the same as when he asks the teenager to tell him about some human curiosity.

"I am as my Master wishes me to be. I am the blade through the sparks of those who oppose my Master, I am the pain of those who threaten my Master, I am the restraints of those who refuse my Master. I am for my Master to do as He wishes, I am for the Senate and the Prime to command." Jazz recites, emotionless, like a drone, and the boy feels like throwing up again.

_"I know you think I'm a cruel sadistic glitch, but there are just some things we can't do anything about. However, I _can_ make sure you get taken care of."_

Taken care of, as in someone looking after him, not as killing him.

Spike feels like the biggest idiot in all history.

"So you are. Your failure is intolerable. You will be punished for it." Optimus answers calmly, finishing his circuit around the saboteur, who just bows his helm some more. "Spike, as an organic and external to this confrontation, it was to be expected there would be some misunderstandings, so don't worry, all is forgiven. We will get you back, fear not."

But the teenager _does_ fear, clenching Soundwave's dactyls tighter as he slowly shakes his head.

With one last glare at Megatron, Prime ends the call.

The static on the _Nemesis_' screen remains but a second, until one of the Reflector components clicks something to make it go black.

Without another word, the Cassette Carrier starts moving again, and soon enough they leave the bridge behind.

"Soundwave?" The Communications Officer doesn't answer, but a quick look reveals him looking at the human. "What is going to happen to me?"

The Decepticon stops.

"Query: Human's wishes."

"I want to go home." He whispers, curling into himself, and a warm dactyl is once more caressing his back.

"Return to residence: Possible. Autobots: Likely to retrieve human from residence."

"And… here?"

"Query: Human wishes to stay."

"I… I don't know what to think anymore."

"Suggestion: Stay, rest. Decision: Upon reboot." And, feeling more tired than ever before, Spike nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I'll do that. Can…" When the Decepticon doesn't move or speak the teenager looks up again. "Can I sleep with you? I don't want to be alone."

"Soundwave: Duty to return to." The boy shivers, remembering Jazz kneeling on the bridge of the _Ark_… "Soundwave: Retrieve human later. Human: Stay with other Decepticon until then."

"With whom?"

"Query: Human's wishes."

Silence, and Spike's tired brain, still going over and over the events of the day, focuses on only two names.

"Is Thundercracker in the Repair Bay?"

"Affirmative."

"Can I stay with Starscream?"

Silence.

"Affirmative."

And Spike nods and lets his eyes close, darkness welcoming him as he finally surrenders to his emotional exhaustion.

* * *

**AN:** I think I'm falling in love with this story. I just love how it's turning out to be, how things fall in place so... _perfectly_.

Sorry about the late update, holidays and all that, and Megatron didn't really want to cooperate at first.

_After the _Ark_: Nominus Prime and the Illusion of Progress_: That and Megatron being from Tarn are from IDW.

It looks like the story is going to go on for some more, instead of finishing in a couple of chapters... Oh, well *shrug* We'll see.

**Skywinder:** Glad to hear that, I didn't want this turning into some kind of Shattered Glass universe... And yes, as you can see, Spike is... a bit of a mess, poor kid. I feel sorry for him.

**Guest:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint (is that what you meant with 'Optimus's view'?) ^^ And I'm really happy to know someone shares my view of Jazz (I'm sure there are more people who think the same, but it's always nice to know for sure). As for monsters... Well, as Spike said, there are a lot of shades of gray, though some are darker than others. About Prowl, there are three reasons he was overpowered so easily: First, he had his hands occupied with Spike, holding and being hold by him, so he couldn't use them without hurting the human. Second, despite Jazz all but confessing he'd done something, Prowl would _never_ think Jazz would attack him. They're good friends, and while he knows how Jazz is, Prowl's still the superior officer. And he doesn't remember such a thing happening before, so he wasn't prepared for a physical attack, he was expecting a grudging explanation or Jazz just walking away so that he would have to chase after him later. And third, as you said, Jazz is _dangerous_. He's not Head of Special Operations for anything. Dealing with a mech that trusts him, meaning he has the element of surprise, with said mech unable to use his hands and in a tiny space like his office? Piece of cake. He knows how to deal with others quickly and efficiently, so incapacitating someone that he's had to knock out before was absolutely no problem for him. I hope that cleared things, and don't hesitate to ask if you still have doubts, I know my writing can be convoluted sometimes...


	5. The Hard Road of Right Choices

It feels like having fallen asleep inside a giant padded heater.

The cushions under his body are soft and the blanket covering him is thick enough to be warm without overheating him.

But the real clue is the purring metallic surface his back is pressed against, the thing the heat is generating from, as well as the comforting feeling.

Humming a bit under his breath, Spike stretches, though being careful not to let the blanket fall off him. It's cold outside.

"Bumblebee?" He mutters, rubbing his eyes with his fists before opening them.

Darkness.

Well, looks like he hasn't fallen asleep inside the Beetle, but more like Prime's trailer. Which means…

"Trailbreaker?" The metallic being against him moves, and, startled, the teenager turns around—

Yellow optics glow from the darkness, barely illuminating the black metal surrounding them.

And their size and positioning mean only one thing.

"Ravage."

_"You are being deceived!"_

_"I know you think I'm a cruel sadistic glitch, but there are just some things we can't do anything about. However, I _can_ make sure you get taken care of."_

_"There is no freedom in knowing you are not fulfilling your purpose."_

_"Spike, as an organic and external to this confrontation, it was to be expected there would be some misunderstandings, so don't worry, all is forgiven. We will get you back, fear not."_

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" He whispers, sitting up and curling under the blanket as if that would still his shivering, and the Cassette's optics move from side to side as he shakes his head.

Spike whimpers, though there are no tears this time.

"The Autobots really… They really believe slavery is the only way to live." A nod, and the boy buries his head in his blanket-covered arms, knees pressing against his chest.

The bed dips a bit, and, with a purring sound, Ravage curls around the human, nuzzling one of his elbows with his snout.

After the instant of surprise is over, Spike embraces the mechanical panther's neck as tightly as he can, trying to keep tears at bay as he feels warm metal rumbling in an effort to console him.

"I thought they were the good guys. I thought they were like the heroes from the cartoons, that they… that they could do no wrong. I was so naïve…" He whispers, uncurling so that he can press tighter against the Cassette. "How couldn't I see that?" Ravage nuzzles his head with his snout, and the teenager almost chuckles at the irony of one of his 'enemies' soothing him.

There's a soft whooshing sound, and, when he looks up, he sees a well known silhouette on the doorway, red visor glaringly bright, even as the room slowly illuminates.

It isn't excessively big, barely more than a bed—berth, because it's just a slab of metal hanging from the wall—and the tiny space between it and the door, but it's… cramped.

Not only is there the main berth, but two smaller ones are on the wall opposites the one the teenager is on, as well as one hanging over them and two more above Spike's, which is the only one covered in mismatched cushions and blankets.

Six in total.

And, effectively, Ravage is sitting next to him, looking at him calmly, almost curiously.

Slowly, as Soundwave takes one step closer so that the door can close at his back, the boy releases the Cassette and readjusts the blanket covering him, but the panther doesn't move from his side, his warmth still easily felt.

It's… comforting.

"Query: Status." The Communications Officer asks, kneeling in front of the tiny berth, and Spike looks away in embarrassment.

"I'm better. I thought you said I would stay with Starscream?" He asks softly, slowly tilting his head to look up at the larger mech from between his messy fringe.

"Human: Recharged during Starscream's stay." And the teenager feels himself blushing at that, looking away once more. "Starscream: Reported restless recharge. Query: Status."

"I… I really feel better. If I had any nightmares, I don't remember them."

Though, as he says it, Spike knows it's a lie. Any nightmares he could possibly have would have likely been memories from the day.

And, against his wishes, he remembers those clearly.

"Where did you get all these?" He asks after a moment, if just to change the topic, as he gestures to the blankets all around him.

Soundwave's visor pales in something resembling amusement.

"Starscream." And the teenager's mouth falls open at that, startled. "Human: Follow."

"Spike." Already standing, the Cassette Carrier stops, looking down with his helm tilted in curiosity. "My name is Spike."

"Spike: Follow."

It takes an effort of will to leave the blanket behind, since the air of the _Nemesis_ is far colder than the boy is comfortable with after being enveloped by such warmth, but he manages.

The door doesn't open to another room, much to the human's surprise, but to a corridor, and, startled, he looks up at Soundwave, but the mech is already walking away, so he can just hurry to catch up and rub his arms to try to keep warm.

A soft growl at his back makes the boy jump with a yelp, but when he whirls around, he sees it's just Ravage.

Carrying a blanket in his jaws.

"Um…" Seeing that he has the teenager's attention, the Cassette steps forward and presses his head against his crossed arms, letting the warm and soft cloth fall in his hands. "Thanks."

Ravage just tilts his head before looking up at Soundwave, who has stopped a couple steps away, and the blue mech gestures for them to move.

With the panther at his side and the blanket once more around his shoulders, Spike feels a lot more at ease in the sunken Decepticon base.

They pass a couple of Constructicons on their way, but they ignore the human trailing after the Cassette Carrier, simply nodding at their Third in Command.

When Soundwave stops in front of another door to press a dactyl against the pad next to it, the teenager feels nervous all over again, unconsciously taking a step closer to Ravage.

The door opens an instant later and, still following the Communications Officer around, the boy enters the room.

It's bigger than Soundwave's, but equally cramped, because the Cassette Carrier's may have had a lot of tiny berths, but this one has three full-sized ones, with Thundercracker and Skywarp sitting on one of them as the black Seeker does something to the blue one's wings with what looks like a laser pointer.

"Screamer said it's the thing on his berth, and that if you want anything he'll be in the lab." The dark Flier tells without need for a word, waving at a tiny parcel on the edge of a berth.

While the Communications Officer moves to retrieve it, Spike finds almost red orange optics fixed on him.

"So… Why are you still here?" Thundercracker asks, uncomfortable, and Ravage snarls. "I mean, why haven't you run away to hide in some hole where the Autobots won't find you?"

"You heard Screamer, TC. The Autoscum still think the flesh-bag is an ally, they'll look for it." Skywarp answers before the human can fully process the question. "Now stay still or you're going to have an insignia with a moustache."

"I wasn't moving." The blue Seeker grumbles, glaring over his shoulder.

"Ah, you did now!"

"Ugh, mute it, Skywarp. How hard is it to recolor a dozen nanites?"

"Recolor?" Spike whispers, looking at Ravage, but Soundwave kneeling down in front of him catches his attention.

One of his servos is open, handing him the unknown parcel, that looks like nothing more than a cardboard box.

When he opens it, though, the teenager gasps in surprise, because there's a bottle of water and a couple of wrapped sandwiches in it.

"How…"

"Starscream: Knowledge of human needs." The Communications Officer answers simply, but, before the boy can grab the food, he finds himself surrounded by warm dactyls and brought to stand on the closest empty berth. "Spike: Refuel." He orders, leaving the box once more in front of him, and the teenager nods and sits down, Ravage soon enough lying at his back once more.

"Spike? Is that the human's designation?" Skywarp asks, his task on Thundercracker's wing forgotten as he looks at the organic in confusion as the boy bites into a cheese sandwich.

Not the best, but he's _hungry_.

"And humans say _our_ designations are strange." The blue Seeker muses out loud, shaking his head.

"What are you guys doing?" The teenager asks after taking a gulp of water, and both Fliers reboot their optics in unison.

"Repainting TC's insignias. Those scrap-heaps of the Autobots scratched them." The black mech answers easily, waving the stick-like tool in his servo.

"But I thought Starscream said they're not paint?"

"It actually means reprogramming the nanites with the wanted color. They have their own color code, blue in this case, but the sigils are purple." Thundercracker supplies, nodding to the wing his Trinemate is once more working on.

Spike just nods, finishing one sandwich and going for the next.

Kind of like a tattoo, then.

The door opens before he manages to eat more than half of it, and Starscream walks inside with a scowl on his faceplate, wiping soot off his servos with a dirty cloth.

"Ah, so our _guest_ finally woke up. What is the status, Soundwave?" He asks after a quick look at them, throwing the stained rag on the only free berth and receiving a deadpanned glare from the blue Seeker at that.

"Human: Recharged and in refueling process. Recharge: Uneventful. Decision: Pending. Human: Requests use of designation." The Cassette Carrier answers calmly as the Flier stops next to him, looking down at a suddenly nervous teenager, half a sandwich in his hands.

"Spike, wasn't it? You're a processor-ache, you know that?" The Air Commander hisses, optics darkening, and the boy gulps and scoots a bit backwards until he's pressed against Ravage's flank. "Quit with the scared act, I'm not going to squish you."

"At least not while you're sitting on his berth." Skywarp chirps happily, earning a glare from his Trineleader and an elbow to the stomach from the blue Seeker. "Ouch, TC!"

"Let the officers talk."

"The human is not an officer."

"Skywarp…" Starscream growls softly, and the black Flier quickly lifts his servos with a fake innocent smile before going back to Thundercracker's wings. "As I was saying, _I_ am not going to squish you. Others think that would be the easiest solution, though, so I suggest not wandering around on your own. _If_ you decide to stay, that is."

And while Spike shivers and presses against Ravage, he feels his mind going to other topics more important than his possible demise.

"I have to go back. To my place. Dad must be worrying himself sick." The Second and Third in Command exchange a look, and the teenager feels himself pale. "Has something happened?"

"Human creator: In _Ark_." Soundwave answers softly, and the boy's eyes widen in fear. "Autobots: Think him ally. Human: Safe and well-guarded. Objective: Avoid loss of ally."

"Which means they'll be treating him just like you had been treated before you realized you didn't know what mess you were in." The blue Flier translates as the Air Commander sits down on the only free berth and starts rummaging under it. "I have no more cubes, Skywarp ingested them all."

"And you couldn't tell me _before_ I came here?" The white and red Seeker hisses, straightening. "I would've stopped by the Rec Room had I known."

"You can go now." The teleporter answers, pulling away from the wing he was working on with a proud smile. "Done!"

"No, I can't. Our _mighty_ leader wants the human out of his processor, so I have to deal with this _and_ report whatever he ends choosing. And who knows what crazy plan we'll have to deal with afterwards. So, your decision?" And all optics fall on Spike.

Slowly, the boy looks down at his half eaten sandwich, not feeling hungry anymore.

"I want to get out of all this. I want to go away, to not be a part of this war anymore, to just… move to another city, and forget you're all here." He whispers, voice sounding empty even to his ears. "But… I can't. I can't leave Dad with the Autobots, even if they won't hurt him, and I can't turn a blind eye on all of this, it's not… right. But I don't… I don't know if I can."

When the silence stretches for maybe a bit too long, the teenager looks up, only to see all mechs either lost in thought or, as the two Seekers sharing the berth in front of his, staring between their commanders like the spectators of a tennis match.

"You should go away. Get your creator and the rest of you human pests and leave the Autobots." Starscream finally answers, though his dark optics are more than enough to keep Spike still and attentive, waiting for the bad news. "However, I don't believe Prime will allow you to jeopardize their relationship with your governments."

"Possibility of belief: Low. Humanity: Too influenced by previous events. Word of one: Zero value." Soundwave continues, which seems like good news…

"But if only one of those that was told believed him, it would be one more risk. And you know how things are with organics. It starts small and in little quantities, and, next you know, they're infesting the planet. If only one human believes things aren't as they seem, especially _this_ human, a known close collaborator of the Autobots…"

"Danger: Exponential growth. Autobot stability: Threatened."

"And by this very same reason, they won't let him go. Either they sequester him, or they deactivate him and blame us for it. Or an accident even, but seeing how us, _evil_ Decepticons, have kidnapped their _friend_…"

"… So Jazz really wanted to kill me." The teenager whimpers, curling into himself, and silence falls again.

"Statement: Inaccurate." Whipping his head up so fast that his vertebrae crack, Spike can't do more than stare at Soundwave. "Autobot: Told Spike to ask about Manifest. Conclusion: Human would be functioning."

"If he was going to kill you, why tell you to ask? Why talk? He's not the kind of mech to share information with someone he has to eliminate. Slim as such chances are, the victim can still escape, and knowledge is power." Starscream elaborates, and, once more, the boy can feel his head spin.

"So… he _was_ trying to help?"

"One would think so."

"Why?"

"Your guess is as good as ours. Or even more accurate, seeing how we're the enemies and you were supposed to be his friend." The Air Commander points out, and, turning away once more, the teenager thinks about that.

_"You're a good kid too. Got the spark in the right place."_

"I… I think that is the answer." He whispers, looking up into the curious and calm red optics and visor. "That I was his friend. He said that I was a good guy, like—"

_"Let me go! Let me go, you _monster_! I thought you were my friends, but you're nothing more than a bunch of-of—of _monsters_!"_

_"Now, now. That's not a nice thing to say. Prowler's a decent mech."_

"—like Prowl."

"You, like the Praxian? No slagging way." Skywarp scoffs, examining the human critically.

"No, I mean, he said that Prowl is a good mech with really bad luck, that he has to knock him out and… rewrite his memories because he's his friend… And that I'm like him, but with the difference that he can't mess with my head like he does Prowl's." The human explains, gesturing a bit, before turning to Soundwave and Starscream.

"We _need_ to get our servos on those two." The Seeker simply answers, and the Cassette Carrier nods in agreement. "Now, let's get back to important things. What are you going to do now?"

Once more, Spike finds himself in the spotlight, but this time he doesn't look away.

"I have to get Dad and my friends to realize things aren't as we thought, and, if I can, the rest of the world too. Can I stay? Here, with you? I'll make myself useful."

But the Second in Command just groans tiredly and covers his faceplate with a servo, shoulders slumping as in defeat.

"Of course you will… Soundwave, come on. I'm going to need you to keep Megatron from glitching when I report." The Flier finally answers, turning to the door as the Cassette Carrier stands to follow. "Skywarp, I better have some Energon when I come back, or I'm going to rip out your warp matrix." The black Seeker squeaks and hides behind his exasperated Trinemate, but nods sharply as his leader turns to him. "And you, don't just sit there. _You_ are the one that needs to ask Megatron permission to stay, not I." He growls, turning to the human, who jumps to his feet so fast that he ends tripping over his blanket, only Ravage appearing at his side saving him from falling face first against the metallic surface of the berth. "Ugh, clumsy organics… Come here."

And, next he knows, Spike is sitting on a sky blue servo, with the Cassette returning to his carrier's chest compartment.

With Starscream's long and decisive strides, it takes them no time to arrive at the bridge.

Like the day before, or the time before the teenager fell asleep, to be more accurate, the Decepticon leader is sitting in his throne, but this time there's Frenzy and Rumble at the controls.

"Well?" The warlord asks simply as soon as the door closes behind his officers, his red optics landing on the boy for an instant before glaring at his Second.

"After explaining the circumstances, the human has decided to try to convince his fellows about the true nature of our war. Their species' very nature will aid him, especially given his status as a known 'friend' of the Autobots. However, to successfully achieve some kind of progress, it'll be necessary for him to stay with us to ensure his undamaged status and continued functioning." The Air Commander explains calmly, and the boy has to do a double-take at the words.

The way it's been said, it's as if the idea of the teenager staying in the _Victory_ was Starscream's instead of Spike's.

"Is it now. What are the chances of success?" Megatron asks, turning to Soundwave.

"Chances: Few. Humans: Wary of change in perceived roles due to previous attempt. Most likely event: All Cybertronian banned from Earth."

"What?!" The teenager shouts, unable to stop himself, as he whirls to the Communications Officer.

"Easiest solution: Eliminate problem." The Cassette Carrier answers, as if it was really that easy.

And, truth be told, it probably is.

After the Decepticons' attempt to send the Autobots to the sun after convincing the government that the roles of good and bad guys had been twisted around—and oh, the irony, especially in the current situation—Spike can believe that sending all Cybertronian away from Earth is exactly what all countries, not only the USA, will agree on.

This isn't their war, why should humans deal with it?

… It makes sense.

But Spike has friends involved, even if he's now trying to make sense of who really deserves to be called that, so he can't turn his back to them.

Nor does he want to.

"That would actually benefit us. Cybertron is mostly under Decepticon control, and the Autobots haven't been in contact as much with the pockets of resistance… Yes, it could work. Very well, the human can stay." The boy smiles widely at that, feeling hope light up at Megatron's words. "Soundwave, I want you working with it to get it to communicate with its fellows. Starscream, you'll be responsible for it."

"I _what_?!" The Seeker screeches, servo jerking softly but enough to give the boy a scare. "Let Soundwave deal with it!"

"You're the _expert_ on organics, aren't you? Deal with it." The warlord answers with a mocking yet sharp smirk, and while the Flier fumes, he doesn't retort. "Now, get to your posts."

Grumbling under his breath, Starscream lets the Cassette Carrier grab the human before exiting the bridge, and, without a word, Soundwave moves to join the twins at the monitors, letting the boy down on the console as he starts reviewing whatever has been going on.

With things taken care of, though, Spike realizes he has a problem.

One that can't wait.

"Huh, Soundwave?" The dark blue mech tilts his helm a bit, not enough to give him all his attention but sufficient for the boy to know he's listening. "I need to go to the john."

And _that_ gets the Communications Officer to turn fully, as well as his Cassettes.

"But didn't he just ask to stay here? Why does he want to go away?" Frenzy asks, utterly confused, as he turns to his equally lost brother.

"And who is that 'John'? Do we have him in the database?" The blue twin continues, turning to the console to start typing.

Startled, the human looks at the Cassette Carrier, who simply tilts his head in an invitation to explain.

"That… wasn't literal. I meant that I need to go to the bathroom. You know, to get rid of waste byproducts of organic metabolism." He explains, smiling sheepishly but also a bit proudly at remembering Perceptor's science babble, no matter how short the sentence.

Which makes his good humor vanish at the mere thought.

Perceptor is an Autobot. Would he have been willing to get Spike out, had he been the one to find him instead of Jazz, or would he have brought him to Prime? Would the teenager have ended as another of his 'studies' had that been the case?

"Ew, get it out of here!" Frenzy whines, stepping away from the boy and pulling him out of his dark thoughts at the same time.

"Yuck. I wouldn't want to be Screamer right now." His twin agrees, the same disgusted grimace on his faceplate as the other Cassette.

Soundwave just sighs and takes Spike in his servo once more, walking out of the bridge under Megatron's curious look.

And, this time, the mechs they cross _acknowledge_ the human.

And speak their mind freely about the 'Autobot pet'.

By the time he's put into an annoyed Starscream's servo, the teenager feels like digging a hole in the metallic floor with his own fingernails, just so that he can crawl into it and disappear.

He's _not_ looking forward to getting to 'play nice' with the clearly resentful Decepticons.

* * *

**AN:** And a more tame chapter this time. Choices are made, and things will never be the same again. Not that they hadn't changed before.

Next chapter... Me thinks will be some world-building, if the story cooperates.

**Guest:** Whoa, calm down, breathe O.o First, thanks a lot, and I'm glad you're enjoying it. Second, the Autobots aren't slavers per se, they're just following a system with the roles so defined and enforced that it's basically slavery... Actually, yes, they are slavers, kinda. Though, as you've read, not everything is clear in the Autobot side ;)


	6. Behind the Hate

If he could, he'd kill Starscream.

If he had the same level of confidence that he did with almost all the Autobots, he would speak his mind freely.

As it is, though, Spike can just hunch down in his seat on a table of the Rec Room, the Seeker calmly reading over a datapad in front of him while, curled into his blanket, Spike finishes his sandwich.

And tries to ignore the piercing looks and sharp words of the other Decepticons in the room.

"Starscream?" He whispers, looking up at the Flier, who just hums in acknowledgement without looking away from his reading. "Can't you do that somewhere else?"

"Mixmaster's using the lab, which means it'll be filled with toxic gases."

"And your quarters?"

"Quarters are for sleeping, not science."

Silence.

"But does it have to be the Rec Room?" The human whimpers when the stares turn too intense, huddling into himself, and, finally, Starscream pulls the pad down with an annoyed hiss.

"This is the _Victory_. You don't know what the _Nemesis_ was like, or any other of our ships, so let me explain. In the _Nemesis_, I had my own two room quarters and a whole lab just for me. But the _Nemesis_ was a warship, prepared for long journeys and lots of fighting. The _Victory_, on the other servo, was supposed to take us from here to Cybertron, _and nothing else_. We didn't build it with large and incredibly comfortable quarters, we didn't build it with the latest laboratory technology, we barely build it at all with your poor materials, and we've been relocating troops and rearranging storage or unused extra rooms to accommodate the arrivals. So, we have communal wash-racks and shared rooms. My Trine's was a storeroom for Energon cubes, but we had to adapt. So, no, I don't have anywhere else to go, unless we take into account the damaged sectors that are either flooded or closed, and I don't want to go there."

Feeling embarrassed by his own thoughts, Spike just bows his head lower.

"Sorry." He whispers after a moment, thinking back to the _Ark_'s big offices, the comfortable recharge quarters he'd visited on occasion, the laboratories…

Starscream is right. He may not have known the _Nemesis_, the ship the Decepticons used to chase after the Autobots four million years ago, but he doesn't need to have done so.

"Now, what is the problem with the Rec Room? Is it those glitches staring at you?" The Seeker asks almost casually, voice still steely in anger at being assigned babysitting duty.

"Ah… maybe?" The human answers softly, looking up as discreetly as he can. "I'm just… I guess none of us is really used to… things." His voice lowers as he barely gets the words out.

No matter that he knows now it hasn't been a bizarre dream, the knowledge of the Autobots' betrayal is still too fresh a wound to even think about at times.

It is bizarre, how the Decepticons' unchanged attitudes can be so helpful.

And so eye-opening at the same time.

They don't like humans, don't like Earth, they're only after their energy sources to send them to Cybertron.

The Decepticons never lied about any of that.

The Autobots, on the other hand, are making use of the misconception without trying to correct it, though, as far as Spike has seen, it's mostly out of their belief on the righteousness that frame type dictates their lives than true malice.

… He refuses to believe it's the later.

The Autobots treated their human allies well, were their friends—and it's hard, but the teenager manages to push away the pang of pain at the thought.

They're just deluded by that twisted way of thinking.

… Wait.

"Uh, Starscream?" He calls, keeping his voice low as the glare the Seeker had been drilling into the other Decepticons to get them to stop staring is turned to him. "Can I… ask a question?"

"You've already done it." The Flier deadpans, and the boy shrinks a bit. "Ugh, alright. Just quit the scared acting, for Primus' sake. I am _not_ going to squish you, I don't need that kind of trouble." The Decepticon grumbles, and the boy almost convinces himself to drop the topic… "Well? I don't have all orn!"

"Why did you… How do I say this…"

"What. Is. It." The Seeker hisses poking a dactyl against the human's chest with just enough strength to make him bend slightly backwards, glowing red optics staring down at him.

And, still unsure about how to voice the question, Spike decides to simply blurt out the main point of it.

"Skyfire."

The Flier tenses with a flash of white from his optics, his whole frame going silent.

With a soft whir and a hydraulic hiss, Starscream straightens in his seat, faceplate emotionless.

"You want to know why I kicked him out of the Decepticons, back in the Arctic." The boy nods, slowly, but the Flier doesn't move an inch, doesn't react in any way the human can perceive. "Because he isn't one of us."

"But he is—_was_ your friend. He always told us about your explorations and… Why would you push him away from the Decepticons when you know how the Autobots really are?"

"Because he is _not_ one of us. As much a surprise as it is for you, the Autobots didn't become functionalists during the off-cycle. They're how they have always been, how things always were. How _Skyfire_ knows things to be. How I used to be, nine million years ago." Spike startles, eyes wide as saucers, as the Flier finally moves, intertwining his dactyls as he rests his servos on the table, red optics staring down. "Skyfire wouldn't have been able to adjust, to _understand_. The war didn't start just one orn, the Decepticons didn't gather at a sudden unprecedented call. We all had to realize things _could_ be different before we even found the courage to act against the Senate. Skyfire… he has neither the motivation nor the wish to go through that change. He's not a Decepticon. So, I didn't let him stay."

"But he's your friend…" The teenager whispers, and red optics move to meet his gaze. "Don't you want to help him, to convince him to join you? Don't you miss him?"

"… I thought him deactivated for nine million years, _of course_ I miss him. But, as his friend, I couldn't do that to Skyfire. Besides, forcing people to our side isn't what Decepticons are about."

"What do you mean?" Spike asks, both curious and, deep inside, slightly worried.

Starscream is being awfully cooperating, and, dare he say it, _vulnerable_.

He never thought the Seeker felt anything more than hate after the Shuttle's 'betrayal', but here the human is, being looked after and receiving answers to personal questions about the Flier's feelings.

If that isn't out of character, Spike doesn't know what is.

"I could tell you all about how the Decepticon Movement came about, but Megatron will be able to tell you better." Starscream answers, a little waving motion of a servo accentuating his words. "The thing is, we didn't want a war, or put the world upside down. We just wanted two things. Two little things. Equality and the ability to choose." The teenager tilts his head, confused, and the Seeker leans back despite his seat having no backrest, arms crossed against his cockpit. "Functionalism is based on the principle that the frame type dictates the function, and when I say 'function' I mean the term as 'life'. What the Decepticons were after, what we _still_ want, is for the mechs to be able to decide if they want to be what their frame type makes them to be. Before the war, before even the first protests, the majority of Cybertron wouldn't have cared if such a change was implemented, only a minority would have rejoiced or raged. The thing is, most mechs were happy in their function, and, given a choice, they wouldn't have changed their work positions."

"But why did the rebellions start then?" The human asks, confused, though glad at the same time.

That explains the Autobots, in a way. They're doing what they were ordered to, but they do it because they _like_ it.

He hopes.

"Because those in power wanted even more. Most of Cybertron was happy with what they did, but that doesn't mean they enjoyed the _conditions_. I was an Energon Seeker, a unit that was sent off-world to search for energy to fuel Cybertron, be they Energon, other sources or even stable planets from which we could harvest their star's light and heat to produce energy. And I was content with that. But when our search was over and we returned to Cybertron to refuel and recharge… We were housed in the outskirts of the cities, in tiny and cramped barracks, with schedules that barely gave us enough free time before launches to go through the recharge period and just enough Energon to let us take off and function for an orn, while our missions could extend to dozens of them, at times. It was a hard, unforgiving post, and we weren't exactly at the same level of the rest of Cybertronian, not in the sensors of those who ruled. And that's why we wanted a change, because while most of us would have staid, we would have had the free time to be more than just our work position. Seekers can't learn Quattra because our functions aren't to spend long stretches of time exercising our processor with a game, and it isn't as if we had that much time, anyway. Our free time was always better spent doing more important things than simply sitting down and enjoying ourselves."

"Then, the war… The ones in power didn't listen, did they?" Despite it, Spike's words aren't as much a question as they are a request for confirmation, so Starscream just nods. "Why a war?"

"Things went by slowly. Little by little, more of Cybertron realized the change wouldn't harm them, or came to agree with Megatron. The plan was to let the Senate realize it in their own, though we were ready for more… _impressive_ campaigns, for we knew they wouldn't be easily convinced. Not so drastic measures as blowing up buildings, though. As more and more mechs started to agree, or at least stopped condemning the ideals of the Manifest, even some Emirates, the leaders of our city-states, joined in. The Senate grew fearful, condemning the 'Decepticons' for our lies, for our attacks against the system and the whole of Cybertron's stability. Many believed them, but a lot also saw the lie for what it was. And thus, the newly christened Decepticons started growing, there were more protests on the streets, and these became popular." And here, the Seeker gestures at his wings, at the purple insignia emblazoned in them. "Until my city went up in flames, and the Senate blamed the Decepticons."

"What?" Spike exclaims, strangled, as the Flier's sky blue servos clench together with the sound of grinding metal.

"The Senate bombed Vos, razed it to the ground, and accused the Decepticons, stating that we had decided to show our true colors at last, that we would simply take what we wanted without care for the rest of Cybertron. Our Emirate had been an idiot, hadn't condemned the Decepticon ideology as almost all other city-states had done, he had even _allowed_ Decepticons to walk the streets in plain sight, traded with them, stated that we were all Cybertronian, and that as long as they didn't disobey the law and had the money to pay for what they bought, no Decepticon would be unjustly punished. The Senate used that to fuel the fear, the hate. Decepticons had been allowed in Vos, had been given free rein to do as they pleased, and had taken all they wanted and left nothing behind. _That_ would be what happened, if Decepticons weren't stopped. It didn't help that, due to the good 'relationship', Decepticons were the first to come to aid Vos, to search for survivors. The Senate used it all, because our Emirate _let them_." The Seeker is positively seething, the air around him almost wavering from the heat of his anger, and Spike moves slightly away.

"Stop that, Starscream." Ramjet calls from the table he's occupying with his Trinemates, all of the Rec Room staring at the Second in Command and the human on the table. "It wasn't the Emirate's fault."

"Oh, wasn't it? The glitch was always opposing the Senate, he practically pulled the trigger himself!" The Air Commander screeches, optics blazing once more.

"That's not right, he was trying to help!" Dirge answers, though he immediately flinches when the white and red Seeker stands up.

"He was a delusional idiot, following the Decepticon ideology so openly! He _knew_ no one could reason with the Senate and the Iaconian Nobility, and yet he kept hoping words would be enough. He _knew_ better! He was a fool and Vos paid the price for his idiocy!"

"It was the right choice, Starscream." Thrust rises slowly, his mind as clearly made as his Trinemates'.

"Then why was it _wrong_?!" The Air Commander screeches, curling over himself as he covers his faceplate with his trembling servos. "I should've done more, I knew what would happen but I refused to see, I foolishly believed… And Vos paid the price… I _failed_…"

"Starscream—"

"Enough." And that is an order if Spike has ever heard one, the Seeker slowly straightening, emotionless and seemingly unbreakable once more.

Without another word, and with all other Decepticons frozen in place, the Air Commander gently grabs the human and exits the Rec Room.

The walk is silent, those who they cross in the corridors immediately getting out of their way and averting their optics, and so boy can't find it in himself to look up at his handler.

Starscream was talking in first person when referring to the Decepticons, and the government of Cybertron destroyed his home city because of their presence there.

_Survivor's guilt._

The bridge isn't silent when they enter, the Reflector components arguing over some alien text onscreen, but it quickly quietens as they notice the Flier walking to a curious Soundwave.

The Cassette Carrier tilts his helm, but extends a servo so that Spike can be put on it when the human is handed to him.

"Starscream, what are you doing?" Megatron asks, straightening on his throne, but the Seeker doesn't bother turning to him, walking towards the door instead.

"I'm going for a long flight. Don't call me."

"You have work to do. Don't you _dare_ walk out that—"

"I _need_ to take a long flight!" The Air Commander cuts with an irate shriek, finally looking up at his leader with a snarl.

"And _I_ need you here in case the Autobots decide to make a move! Do I need to remind you we have one of their allies?!" The warlord roars, straightening and moving closer to the seething Flier. "You _will_ stay here."

"You _won't_—"

A blink, and Megatron has a servo wrapped around his Second's neck, keeping him off the ground despite the Seeker's struggles.

"I won't what, Starscream? Stop you? I can snap those wings on your back and have you fight _grounded_ if need be, but you _will_ stay in the ship. Understood?" The gray mech hisses, the human trembling on Soundwave's servo and grabbing a dactyl when the other one is raised to steady him. "I said, _understood_?"

"Yes." The Flier chokes out, something that gets him thrown on his back with a loud clang and a pained grunt.

"Good."

"I want a fight." And the Decepticon leader, who had turned his back on his Second to walk back to his throne, stops at the words. "You and me, no weapons. I win, I'm allowed to go outside. You do, I'm staying."

"No." Megatron answers easily, turning around to watch the irate snarl deepen. "You won't be fighting anyone and you won't be going anywhere."

"But I—"

"If you have energy to burn, deal with it in a way that won't get you slagged!" The warlord roars, looming over the Seeker still kneeling on the ground. "Mess with the labs, walk around insulting mechs… go prank someone and blame it on Skywarp, if you must! But stop. Being. An idiot! Every slagging time you go burn extra energy you get yourself scrapped, and I _won't_ let it happen this time. So, either you do some harmless exercise, or I'm keeping you chained _to the floor_."

Immobile as they are, Starscream's wings still managed to quiver with pent up rage—

Before he throws himself at Megatron.

Faster than the human can follow, the Decepticon leader has the Air Commander pinned to the ground, easily keeping him still despite the struggling.

But it's the serious expression on the gray faceplates that makes the boy shiver.

There's something wrong there. Despite the attack, Megatron doesn't look angry, more like… frustrated?

It takes a long while before Starscream finally stops squirming, simply trembling under his leader's weight, and, by then, the rest of Decepticons have turned back to the monitors as if nothing was happening, Soundwave having left the human on an unused console.

Slowly, Megatron gets off his Second and stands up, offering the Seeker a servo to help him get back to his pedes, and even steadying him when the winged mech wobbles a bit.

"Go get some Energon, Starscream. Take the rest of the shift off."

The Flier just nods and exits the bridge, and the Decepticon leader observes him calmly before straightening his limbs with some creaking and metallic groans, going back to his throne after that.

Unable to understand what just happened, and with too many things to ponder, Spike makes himself comfortable on his seat and closes his eyes.

The soft clicking and whirring sounds aren't unknown, but they're not what he's used to.

After all, there's always chatter in the _Ark_'s bridge, at least when he's there.

Concentrating on his surroundings that much harder to take his mind off those thoughts, the human slowly lets the rhythmic clicking and the occasional pede-steps lull him to a light sleep.

* * *

**AN:** Shorter chapter, but I thought there was enough in it to leave it here. Plus, who knows how long the next part is going to be once I'm done with it, which is another reason I left it at that, I didn't want to leave you chapter-less.

Next time: We'll check on the Autobots and their remaining human allies.

**Secret:** Uh... glad you like it? Anyway, thanks for the review, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask, unless they're spoilers, I answer them happily.


	7. Stories

It's not strange for the Autobots to come pick Chip up, but…

Well, he usually has to call them first.

And Ironhide isn't one for human-sitting duty, yet the boy finds himself now inside the Weapons Specialist, who is driving to the _Ark_ at the maximum allowed speed.

"Ironhide? Did something happen?" He asks, because this whole thing is slowly going from strange to creepy.

"Yeah. The Cons kidnapped Spike." Chip tenses, worried for his friend, but that doesn't explain— "I don't know what they've done to him, but he thinks the Autobots are the bad guys now."

Oh.

"Like Doctor Arkeville's mind control?"

"Maybe. You'd have to ask Prime about it, the only science I really get is the one involved in weapon maintenance." Ironhide answers, and they fall silent.

For all of two minutes.

As if sensing the human's nervousness and worry, the radio comes alive, tuning into some kind of… rock station?

"Mind if I change that?" He asks with an amused smile, and the Autobot lets out a snort-like rev.

"You don't know how glad I am that you asked. I have no idea about human musical tastes."

So, Chip fiddles with the radio some more, settling for classical music.

It's not something he would listen on an everyday basis, but classical helps him clear his head and think, and he has the feeling that's why they're going to the _Ark_.

Once there, though, the young scientist finds himself stunned into silence once more.

Sparkplug is glaring up at Optimus, with Carly standing worriedly next to the older man, and Raoul scowling at their side.

He understands the presence of the first two, but Raoul? What need would the Autobots have for—

Protection.

Raoul is here for his own protection.

Which means there's something _worse_ than a simple kidnapping Decepticon style, because those usually end with some negotiating about Energon or its transport to Cybertron, and no harm done, see you all next week for the special evil plan of the day.

Oh, and if that wasn't enough, Jazz is leaning against the wall, almost casually, except for the fact he's dead serious.

As soon as he and Ironhide enter the room, Prowl turns to them, analyzing them quickly, while the Prime finishes reassuring the humans already there, or something.

"Any problems?" The Second in Command asks, and the Weapons Specialist shakes his helm.

"Not even a whiff of the Cons."

"Chip, welcome. Please, excuse us for this unannounced meeting, but there have been some developments that I fear may endanger all of you." Optimus says, attracting everyone's attention, relief clear in optics and voice.

"Ironhide said the Decepticons are mind-controlling Spike, or something. What happened?"

"We're not entirely sure, but we believe Soundwave may have something to do with this." Prowl explains simply, and the bespectacled teen freezes.

He remembers—ah, what is he thinking? Of course he remembers, how could he ever _forget_?!

It was the scariest and most horrifying situation he has ever been in, with every fiber of his being crawling like millions of bugs were running over them, with those shocks that brought slivers of memories with them, from the data the Decepticons had been looking for to what had been his first memory ever, as he opened his eyes in a hospital room as a newborn baby.

But…

"I thought Soundwave could only read people's minds?" He asks in a whisper, unable to stop his shivering as he tries to get rid of that terrifying memory.

"Decepticons have made an _art_ of reprogramming." The Praxian growls—literally _growls_—as he glares into the middle distance. "It was to be expected they would find a way to apply it to organics, sooner or later."

"What can we do?" Carly asks softly, as startled as the rest of humans by the usually serious black and white mech's show of aggressiveness.

"For now, and until we manage to know exactly how to take care of Spike, we would like you to stay here, for your own protection. I understand it is sudden, but this is the best we can do at the moment." Optimus answers more calmly, and, despite his slight hesitation, Chip can see that it _is_ the best course of action.

He'll have to give his parents a call, but they should be safe. After all, it is _him_, the crippled yet bright human that messes with their plans, who the Decepticons want.

"And how can we be sure we're safer here than back home?" Raoul asks skeptically, and all eyes turn to him and the Autobot leader. "Sparkplug said Spike was _here_ when those creeps took him."

"That was because we weren't ready. A mistake that won't occur again."

If he didn't know better, Chip would've swore Optimus is _glaring_ at Jazz.

But it can't be, Optimus doesn't do glaring, not at his own soldiers.

"Security upgrades at 75.8% progress, field checks at half progress. It should all be finished within the hour." The Head of Spec Ops answers, straightening in a formal salute once his leader's optics land on him, still as serious as before. "No Decepticon will be able to infiltrate or escape once we are done, Sir."

Sir.

_Sir_?

"Thank you, Jazz. Keep at it." The Prime returns calmly with a dip of his helm.

They're let out not too late after that, Ironhide and Prowl with them as some kind of bodyguards, while the Third in Command and the Autobot leader look over something with Red Alert.

"Why is Jazz so serious?" Carly asks at their companions, and while the red mech pays them no attention, too concentrated on scanning their surroundings, the Tactician looks down at them.

"He was with Spike when the Decepticons took him. That is his way of coping with failure."

"Oh."

"Well, I hope the old Jazz comes back soon. This one is so serious it's scary." The girl answers, rubbing her arms as if cold, and Chip can't help but notice how Prowl doesn't look at them when he nods in agreement.

Looks he's blaming himself too.

* * *

The blanket nest is still on Ravage's berth when they get back to Soundwave's room, and Spike can't help but analyze it in confusion.

"Why is that still there?" He asks the Cassette Carrier as soon as he's put down, and the Communications Officer tilts his helm in curiosity.

"Spike: Needs recharge berth. Ravage: Offered to watch over Spike."

"But that's his berth. He's not going to recharge on the floor, is he?"

"Possibility: If necessary."

"No. No way. I can't sleep in there if it means Ravage gets displaced to the floor." He answers, firm and standing straight, arms crossed against his chest in his best unyielding expression.

Soundwave takes a look at him, at the blankets, and back at the human, before nodding.

Spike has just a second to relax before he's picked up in one servo while the other grabs the bundle of cloth, the dark blue mech standing up the next instant to move to—

The main berth.

The teenager doesn't have a chance to protest as the blankets are carefully arranged on a corner and he's put on them.

By the time the boy has realized what has happened, Soundwave is already at the door, with the Cassettes he's just deployed standing in the middle of the tiny room and looking up at the human.

"Spike: Stay and recharge."

And without another word, he's gone.

"It's too soon to go to bed." He grumbles, crossing his arms again and definitely _not_ pouting.

"Well, you were recharging on the bridge, what did you expect?" Rumble asks as he climbs on the berth, the rest of Cassettes soon following, with Ravage once more lying down at the teen's back.

"You're lucky you weren't on duty." Frenzy adds with a dangerous grin, and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw twitter softly in what may be laughter.

"Oh, come on! There was nothing going on, it was boring. And I _wasn't_ sleeping, I was just resting my eyes."

"Suuuuuure." The twins answer in unison, clearly mocking.

But, at least, they aren't being cruel about it, they're more like… teasing.

It's nice.

Kind of like with—

"So, what am I supposed to do now? Because I am _not_ going to sleep." He hurries to ask, unwilling to let his mind follow the previous thought.

"Do you want us to read you some bed stories?"

"You're hilarious." He deadpans, but all the Cassettes are either chuckling or outright laughing.

Minus Ratbat, whose head is tilted so much to the side in curiosity that it's almost upside-down.

"Huh… do you… need something?" The teenager asks, unsure if he should laugh or move away from the tiny purple mech, who straightens almost excitedly at being addressed.

"Meaning of bed stories?"

Spike's lower jaw, in a figuratively manner, hits the floor.

"You can _speak_?"

"All of us can." The teenager jumps in place, whirling around to see the black and silver mech lying comfortably on the blankets. "We just prefer not to."

"Oh. Uhm. Alright?"

"Hey, chill, squishy. You can be as cozy with Rav as you want, if he was bothered by it he'd have let you know already." Frenzy snickers when Spike moves on his sitting position uncomfortably, earning a scowl from the human.

"I _know_ that." He grumbles, lying back—

And stiffening when his back finds warm metal.

Slowly, he turns his head to see the panther resting his on his crossed front paws, completely at ease.

"Do you mind if…"

"Not at all."

Reassured by that, and unwilling to say just how much better he feels nestled against the feline Cassette's side, the teenager makes himself comfortable again.

And feels Ratbat's yellow optics almost drilling into him.

A moment later, he straightens as he remembers the question.

"Oh, the meaning of bed stories, right?" The purple mech nods, excited. "Well, it's to get little children to sleep. You tell them about adventures and heroes and nice tales with happy endings so that they don't get scared of the dark and have nice dreams, I guess."

"Makes no sense." Buzzsaw mutters out loud, voice a deep rasp. "Why stories about inferior beasts?"

"Huh?"

"Goats, pigs, ducks." Laserbeak pipes in, and it takes the teenager a moment to understand.

"Oh, those! Well, it's good for the imagination, I think that's what an expert said, or something… And, besides, those are fables."

"Fables?" All Cassettes repeat at once, equally curious.

"Yeah, tales where, instead of humans, the main characters are humanized creatures. They always have a lesson to teach, a moral."

"How?" Rumble asks after exchanging a look with his twin.

"Well… I don't really know how to explain it…"

"Tell us one?" Ratbat asks, and his brothers straighten in realization before turning to the boy.

"Sure." To Spike's amusement, all Cybertronian move to sit in a semicircle around him, listening as attentively as little children. "Now, let's see… Oh, I know! Alright. Once upon a time, there was a family of ducks. There was Mommy Duck, Daddy Duck and their eggs."

"That a joke?" Buzzsaw asks with a glare as the twins snicker, and the teenager hurries to shake his head.

"No, no! That's just how the story goes, so…" The Flier calms down, lying down as he ruffles himself, regardless of the lack of feathers, and the boy smiles again as he goes back to the tale. "As I was saying, it was the parents and their eggs, until one day, the eggs started to tremble and crack."

"That's bad." Laserbeak whispers that time, and the human rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"No, that's good, because that meant the babies were about to be born." The Cybertronian straighten, curiosity picked up. "One by one, all the ducklings came out of the eggs, little, fluffy and yellow. Minus one. That duckling was big, clumsy and an ugly gray."

"Duh, like Screamer after something in the lab blows up." All Cassettes break down laughing at Frenzy's words, and, after a moment to get the flabbergasting image processed, Spike joins them.

"Ducks don't screech, they quack." Ravage points out, though the smile is clear in his voice.

"You thinking the same as me, bro?"

"You know I do, bro."

The grins the twins exchange are pure mischief, so Spike clears his throat to get the focus back on the story instead of whatever prank they're planning

"Anyway, Mommy and Daddy Duck were really unhappy that one of their eggs had turned out to be such an ugly duckling, so they didn't love the Ugly Duckling as they did his siblings. The Ugly Duckling was really sad by this, so he went away to try and find someone who would love him." The smirks are already gone, and, once more, all Cassettes are as attentive as little children, wonder and curiosity in their optics and faceplates. "But neither the geese, nor the robin, nor the partridge wanted anything to do with such an ugly duckling. The Ugly Duckling was really sad by that, so he walked further and further away, until he found a pond where the most beautiful birds he had ever seen were swimming and resting."

"Roosters!" Ratbat exclaims, and suddenly everyone is staring at him in disbelief. "What? They have amazing metallic green feathers."

"Roosters don't swim, air-helm. 'Sides, the awesomest birds are seagulls. Those wings look wicked sharp!" Rumble cuts, straightening proudly, and Spike has to cover his mouth to not sputter in laughter.

"Nuh huh, it's the bird of paradise." Laserbeak retorts, shaking his head, while Buzzsaw gaps.

"No way, it's the eagle!"

"Eagles are majestic, not beautiful."

"If you want to know, why don't you mute it so that we can hear the rest of the story?" Ravage hisses, more annoyed than angered, and his brothers immediately calm down. "Besides, it's the blue jay."

"You just say that because you like blue." Rumble grumbles, but he stays silent after that.

After regaining some semblance of normality, though still with a big smile on his face, Spike straightens and goes over his words, trying to remember where the tale was at when he was interrupted.

"Right. As I was saying, the Ugly Duckling saw what _he_ thought were the most beautiful birds ever. They were white, with long necks and large wings, and so graceful that the Ugly Duckling couldn't help but stare."

"Swans!" All Cassettes exclaims at once, and the teenager nods, making them smile proudly at their deductive skills.

"Yes, swans. So, while the Ugly Duckling was mesmerized by their beauty, one of them approached him. He was scared at first, because he was an ugly duckling, and she was a really beautiful swan, but she smiled at him and asked him where his parents were."

"Birds don't talk." Frenzy deadpans, earning a glare from his Flier brothers.

"They talk in bird speech, now be quiet." Laserbeak hisses, almost pecking him when the humanoid mech makes a dismissive gesture with a servo.

However, they calm down soon enough, turning to Spike again to hear how the story goes.

"The Ugly Duckling sadly told her that nobody wanted him because he was ugly, and she seemed really surprised. When he asked why she looked startled, she smiled again and brought him to where some ducklings where playing. And want to know what? They were all big and clumsy and gray like him!" The Cassettes gasp, completely entranced and surprised by the plot twist, if it can be called that, leaning forward with clear interest. "The swan told him that he wasn't ugly, that, when he grew up, he would be a beautiful swan just like all the others. And she took him in as if he was her own duckling, and the Ugly Duckling grew up to be the most beautiful swan of all."

"And?" Ratbat asks after some seconds of silence, and Spike gives him an amused look.

"And that's it, that's the story."

"What's the lesson?" Buzzsaw questions after exchanging some looks with the others, sounding genuinely confused.

"That you can accomplish anything you want if you set up to it, or something. The Ugly Duckling wanted a loving family, so he went searching and found it. Oh, and that family is the most important thing. Your family will always love you, no matter what."

Once more, the Cassettes exchange looks, though this time they're more… fearful? Worried?

"Don't tell Soundwave that story." Ravage whispers, saddened, to Spike's confusion.

"Why not?"

"Because he as an Ugly Duckling, too. But, when he finally found a flock, the Senate took it away."

An Ugly Duckling whose flock…

Dead.

Soundwave's family was killed by the Cybertronian government.

Meaning, the _Cassettes' family_ was killed by the Senate—and the Autobots—too.

_Way to go, Spike._

"I… I'm sorry guys, I didn't—"

"Don't." Ravage cuts, and if he curls a bit closer to the teenager, no one says anything.

"Are you recharging with Soundwave? Can we too?" Ratbat asks, voice as innocent as a little kid, and the human has to wonder if—

Wait. Why wonder? He can ask, can't he?

"How old are you guys?" He asks, looking from on Cassette to the other and finally setting his gaze on a curious Ravage. "I mean, who is the oldest, who the youngest, and all that."

"I'm the oldest." The panther answers, lifting his head. "Then, there's Frenzy and Rumble. They're twins. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw come later, also twins, and Ratbat is the youngest."

"Huh. I always thought Laserbeak was older that those two."

"And why would you think that?" Rumble scowls, arms crossed against his chest plates.

"Well, he always looks more… serious, more mature." He answers with a sheepish grin, and all minus the Grounder twins break out laughing.

"Oh, mute it." Frenzy scowls, huddling into himself in the very picture of pouting.

And the door hisses open.

Soundwave's visor reboots a couple of times, a paler red in surprise, when all those inside salute him happily.

"Query: Doings."

"Just telling stories, Boss." Rumble answers so innocently that it's obvious he's not, but the Cassette Carrier barely spares him a look before carefully picking Spike up.

"Hey, where are we going?"

"Spike: Presence required in bridge."

"What for?"

"Update."

Before exiting the room, the teenager twists around to wave at the tiny mechs still sitting on the Communications Officer's berth, though his smile turns to a confused frown as he processes the Third in Command's words.

"Wait, what update?"

"Autobots."

Spike's blood freezes.

They stay silent all the way to the bridge, where they find a fuming Megatron and a serious Starscream staring at the large screen, depicting some kind of news announcement.

As soon as they enter, though, all visual arrays turn to them.

"Ah, finally here. Reflector, play it back." The Decepticon leader orders, and, with some clicking, the screen goes blurry and static-filled.

When it clears, the same news announcer and setting is on, but, as the volume is turned on, Spike finally realizes _what_ he's being updated on.

"—claim that the Decepticons' new weapon is the most threatening to human life yet, and advises the citizens redouble security in case of an attack. We're connecting now with Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots." And half the screen vanishes under an image of the red and blue mech in the _Ark_'s bridge, the news' anchor on the other half. "Mister Prime, could you please tell us more about this Decepticon weapon?"

::I am afraid we can't be certain of its functioning yet, not unless we get a chance at examining it closely. However, we know that this mech is the responsible for it.:: An image of Soundwave, gun extended, pops up over the human half. ::This new weapon has the capability of not only reprogramming any kind of artificial intelligence, but it can also modify human memories.:: The image disappears, showing the reporter once more.

"Human memories? So that Decepticon can, essentially, brainwash a person?"

::Yes. The Decepticons captured one of our human liaisons and friends, Spike Witwicky—:: A picture of the boy, once more over the human onscreen. ::—and turned him against us, making him believe that the roles of Autobots and Decepticons are switched out.:: The image disappears.

"That is awfully similar to one of their previous schemes, isn't it?"

::Indeed. However, this time the Decepticons have crossed the line. For this very reason, we ask all human citizens to be on their guard and give word of any Decepticon presence as soon as possible, as well as evacuate the area. Our scientists are working as hard as they can to reverse this brainwashing, but we can't reveal yet a full report of our advances. However, despite this new disgusting move on Megatron's part, I ask for calm and for the population to continue on with their everyday lives. We Autobots will deal with the Decepticons, and, this time, once and for all.::

"Excuse me, Mister Prime, what about the boy, Spike Wickity?"

::He is still in Decepticon hands, probably being used to further develop their weapon.:: The anchor looks about ready to be sick, and Optimus' optics go a threatening dark blue the teenager had never seen outside of battle before. ::If anyone was to see Spike Witwicky, call the police or any other authorities. Do not try to engage and do not listen to him. And Megatron, if you are seeing this… Know that this is the last straw. **You will pay for your crimes, no matter the cost.**:: The last part is an unintelligible clicking and whirring, but the subtitles suddenly onscreen are explanation enough.

"Thank you for attending us, Mister Prime."

::Thank you for your excellent work in keeping the population updated. It is a commendable and valuable task.::

"Uhm, why, thank you, a lot… Uhm, right, on other news—"

The image freezes, Optimus no longer on the screen while the flustered reporter gets back to work.

And Spike doesn't know if he should do like Megatron, and cuss out a storm—albeit in English instead of Cybertronian—or shiver in fear like Soundwave.

In the end, he settles by clenching his tremulous fists and looking up at the only half-composed mech.

Starscream returns the look as soon as he feels himself observed, optics bright and arms crossed against his cockpit, although relaxed.

"That isn't good, is it?"

"Be happy in your work, they say, for it enriches you. Be grateful for your frame type, for it defines you. Be thankful for the system—it protects you. Be mindful of your betters—they think for you. I say enough. Reject your work. Reject your definition. Resist the system. And your 'betters'? You have none. We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives." The Seeker answers instead, voice calm but with powerful intonation, as if reciting a favorite line from a movie, or something.

"Since when do you quote me, Starscream?" Megatron asks with a smile that looks equal parts amused and proud, and Spike finally realizes the mechs in the bridge, so fearful or worried or angered before, have calmed down.

"Since I first read your works. It's just that I don't usually need to remind _you_ of the reason we're fighting."

"I knew I kept you around for something."

The tones are so friendly and comfortable that the teenager doesn't think 'bantering' is the word for this exchange, but, yet again, he's not really focused in the situation at hand.

Because Starscream's little speech—Megatron's own writings, are new, but not unknown or unheard, thanks to that stomach-churning history class what feels like an eternity ago.

"Arbeit macht frei." The boy whispers, but all sound around him stops as the Decepticons look down at him. "Work brings freedom. It—It's the same the Autobots think, isn't it?"

"In a sense." The Decepticon leader answers, his strong voice sounding soothing in that calm tone. "Everyone's shape serves a purpose. Fulfilling that purpose brings order, and order means life can continue. However, few ever thought to ask who decided on that order, and why should it be there in the first place."

"Will you teach me?" When the warlord looks at him, Spike doesn't curl away, but meets his glance without fear. "_After the _Ark_: Nominus Prime and the Illusion of Progress_. Will you?"

"Yes. But later. I have things to take care of now."

And Spike finds himself on Starscream's servos before the mech leaves the room.

"Where are we going?"

"To get you some food. It's time for you to refuel, isn't it?" The Seeker answers, and the teenager feels his stomach growl in agreement.

It will be nice to get something to eat, sure, but…

"I really wanted to stay in the bridge."

"Once you're done, we'll go back."

"Okay. Thanks." Starscream doesn't seem impressed or bothered by his smile, just giving him a bored look, so the boy smiles wider. "We're going to the Rec Room again?"

"Unfortunately. The laboratory needs to be cleaned. Mixmaster apparently managed to unleash a mixture of—"

The Flier doesn't finish his sentence, because, in that moment, he's thrown forward as something explodes behind them.

Spike shouts in surprise, curling into himself as the Seeker cocoons him with his servos, his whole body trembling with the impact of the large frame as an acrid smell and some popping and creaking of overheated broken metal fills the air.

Terrified, almost hyperventilating at the memory, the teenager manages to wiggle halfway out of the Decepticon's grasp before he sees what is going on.

Starscream's wings, shoulders and neck are shining a bright red of hot metal, his faceplate scrunched in agony and optics black.

And, over them, the air shimmers.

Mirage is nothing if not his usual haughty self, staring at the damaged mech like one would a discarded chocolate wrapping in an otherwise clean street.

In disgust.

The gun he carries is unknown, but obviously guilty of the state the Seeker is in.

And then, blue optics land on the terrified human.

_"What good is an assassin that won't kill? What good is a saboteur that won't undermine the enemy's forces? What good are you to me?"_

_::We Autobots will deal with the Decepticons, and, this time, once and for all.::_

_"I know you think I'm a cruel sadistic glitch, but there are just some things we can't do anything about. However, I _can_ make sure you get taken care of."_

As Mirage reaches for him, Spike can't help but apologize to Jazz in his head.

The Head of Spec Ops gave him a chance to learn the truth, to help, and the human is going to die without knowing more about the Manifest than its title and a single quote.

_"We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives."_

Taking as deep a breath as he can, Spike screams.

* * *

**AN:** Alright, one more chapter done (not thanks to you, Chip Chase. Yes, I'm glaring at you and your lack of cooperation).

_The Ugly Duckling_ belongs to Hans Christian Andersen (though I don't know what the version I know about is from), and it's supposed to be a tale of personal transformation for the better.

And Mirage happened. I had thought of including something like that later in the story, but, as Optimus was talking in the news, I realized that, the longer it took the Autobots to take action, the better prepared the Decepticons would be. Apparently, Optimus thought so too.

So... cliffhanger! *runs away for dear life*


	8. Crash Course

A blue servo crushes Mirage's just before he grabs the human and, with a startled expression on his faceplate, the Special Operations Agent is sent flying down the corridor as Starscream rolls to his pedes with a shriek of rage, Spike clinging to the servo around him for dear life.

The noble rolls back to a standing position as soon as he touches the ground, weapon up once more—

The Seeker curls into himself just before the hit lands, jerking with a pained gasp at the new explosion and falling to one knee.

And then, a loud crash and shriek of metal fills the corridor, the sound so loud and painful that the teenager can only cover his ears and close his eyes tightly, hoping that it stops soon.

"Starscream!" The boy looks up at the new voice, just in time to see Thundercracker fall to his knees at their side, with Skywarp standing threateningly over an immobile Mirage on the floor, the blue and white mech's weapon destroyed and Energon dripping from a mangled arm missing the servo.

Before he can process more, the boy squeaks as he's pulled up to the blue Seeker's chest, the servo around him disappearing to drop him on a black one.

Thundercracker gives him a surprised look before putting him on the floor once he sees he's not injured, turning back to Starscream.

The white Flier is barely holding himself up, his back ripped open and wings hanging lifelessly from his shoulders, one shoulder vent blown to pieces with the arm next to it dangling in tattered strips of metal and broken cables.

But his optics shine red and he scowls when his Trinemate starts fussing over him.

"What the Pit is all that—Primus!" The boy whirls around in surprise, watching the Stunticons rush to them, optics and visors pale as they move from the Air Commander to the unconscious Autobot under the black Seeker's watchful irate gaze.

"What happened here?!" Megatron roars from the other end, the snarl on his faceplate deepening as he sees the immobile saboteur. "_Prime_."

Soundwave, next to him, hurries past Skywarp to kneel next to Thundercracker, giving Starscream a quick look that is answered with something between a smirk and a scowl, before reaching for Spike.

Once more back in the Cassette Carrier's hold, the teenager holds on tight and whimpers.

"Call the Constructicons. Motormaster, get your Gestalt to accommodate our _guest_, and make sure his toy is delivered to the lab. Soundwave, I want the ship secured and swept for spying devices. Thundercracker, Skywarp, take care of the human." The Decepticon leader orders, voice firm and allowing no chance to protest, but none is forthcoming anyway.

However, as soon as the blue Seeker reaches for Spike, the boy screams and holds tighter onto the Cassette Carrier, the feeling of déjà vu growing stronger with each second.

"Hey, come on, we'll take care of you." The black Flier calls from somewhere close by, soft and slightly concerned, but the teenager just shudders and shakes his head in a negative. "Uh, Lord Megatron, what are you—"

Strong and warm dactyls wrap around him, and, without a chance to stop it, Spike is ripped out of Soundwave's grasp.

"No! No, please, don't, _don't_!"

"Quiet, human."

The boy freezes.

Slowly, he looks up at his handler, only to see it is no other than Megatron himself.

"If you want to stay in the bridge, you'll behave."

The teenager can only nod tremulously and let himself be carried away as the Constructicons rush into the corridor.

The way back to the command center is silent, shock and a healthy dose of fear and wariness keeping Spike from uttering a sound or squirming in the slightly uncomfortable grasp.

The Reflector components are all staring at the door when they enter, but one nod from their leader makes them go back to their work.

To the boy's relief, Soundwave enters the bridge after them.

That doesn't stop him from gulping and scooting back as soon as he's dropped on an armrest of the throne Megatron sits on.

"What's going to happen now?" He manages to ask after a couple of minus of calm, with the Decepticon leader glaring at the screen as the others work. "Are you going to call the Autobots?"

"No." Red optics finally turn to him, and Spike can't help but huddle into himself with wide eyes. "Prime made it clear that he will do anything to get what he wants. And so will we." Megatron turns away, and the Cassette Carrier tilts his helm to meet his gaze at the same instant. "Once the spy is secured, I want his processor, _all_ of it. The calm times are over. This is all out war again."

The Reflector components turn around too, and the teenager feels his throat close.

All out war.

Does that mean what happened on Earth before, all those battles and trying to destroy the planet, were but scuffles?

"You're… going to _kill_ the Autobots?"

Instead of an answer, all he gets are serious looks.

The human pales, feeling sick and conflicted once more.

But, before he can find out anything to say, the warlord makes a gesture with a servo and the other Decepticons in the bridge get back to work.

His red optics never break the stare with the boy's brown eyes.

"Let me tell you a story." Spike shivers at the calm voice, but even more at the dark tone in it. "It all begins long before the war, even before the first signs of unrest. In fact, it starts in the zenith of the most glorious era in Cybertronian history, the very peak of the Golden Age." And Megatron moves, staring at the screen full of graphics, blueprints and scans, but seeing none of them, as the teenager squirms to sit more comfortably, the uneasy feeling in the bottom of his stomach not going away. "It wasn't just a prolific time, with new discoveries and upgrades almost literally spurting from the ground, but an era of peace. No disturbances, no alien threats, and Cybertron's course through a star rich nebulae meant there was no shortage of Energon or trouble to acquire it. In short, a utopia made reality. Wouldn't you agree?"

And those red optics turn back to him, but, this time, there's something in them that the human can't put a name to.

Though he _can_ answer.

"_Sounds_ like that."

Right answer, judging by the almost non-existent smile on the warlord's faceplate.

"It does, doesn't it." The Decepticon whispers, once more turning to stare into the middle distance. "Yes, it was the very definition of perfection. But that was precisely why the Senate and Nominus Prime became bolder, the previously well-established functionalism being modified to 'adapt' to such peaceful times, becoming stricter, twisted. And, in the midst of such peace, no one realized just _what_ was happening. And thus, no one thought it strange that warmechs were reassigned. What use is a weapon in times of peace?" The smile is sarcastic, almost threatening, and Spike shivers. "They were modified, set to mines and construction crews, and it was _right_. There was a force being kept, of course, but it was weakened. And no one cared. Cybertron had no enemies, after all."

Silence dawns after that, with the warlord lowering his gaze to his intertwined dactyls on his lap.

A quick look reveals that Soundwave is no longer in the room, and the human's eyes widen.

When did he leave, and how couldn't he notice?

"But all things come to an end, and thus, the Golden Age started its decline." He turns back to Megatron at his voice, once more focusing on his words and vacant stare. "However, the lifestyle that had become the norm, despite being too high-maintenance, wasn't properly shed. Instead of reducing the luxuries, the Senate strived to maintain them. At least for themselves and the Nobility. And so, the populace began to wilt and struggle. But as long as they followed the functionalist law, they were kept maintained and refueled, and thus no one saw a problem with it. No one, but those who were _actually_ suffering so that the ones in power could keep living above all. The Energon Seekers, the Military, the miners… and, bit by bit, every mech else, starting from construction and transport, and slowly climbing to the rest of echelons. It was during that time that a warmech turned miner began to think. It was dark in the mines, and there was nothing there that couldn't be done with the attention of just peripheral systems, so there was a lot of time for contemplation. And such thinking, inevitably, turned to the situation they were in… and just how corrupted the system was. Not only was the populace boxed in neatly labeled work stations and castes, but the difference between the thriving and wasteful lifestyle of the Nobles and Senators was leeching the resources the rest of mechs needed to survive. In some city-states, deactivated husks lying in the middle of the streets went from being a horrifying sight to a common one. Cybertronians were deactivating due to lack of Energon while others literally bathed in it." The boy whimpers, shivering in horror, as Megatron's servos clench tightly with trembles of rage, but his voice remains carefully neutral. "But the Senate and Nobles didn't care. After all, certain frame types were naturally inferior, savage warmechs that knew only how to deactivate and damage and destroy."

And the warlord turns the human once more, and Spike freezes.

His red optics look… _haunted_.

"It was then that it became a situation of them against us. Either you deviated, went against the system and the law and hid away, or they drained you until you were nothing but another gray frame lying in the middle of the street, or in a caved in tunnel of an isolated mine. That was when the Senate became harsher, its forces deadlier, but that was also when a certain script, outlawed as soon as it was first written, became more popular. Reject your work. Reject your definition. Resist the system. And your 'betters'? You have none." And the boy tenses, recognizing the words as Starscream's quote of Megatron's own work. "Mechs started realizing things were wrong, and some even became bold enough to break from the system. And as time went on and the situation worsened, their numbers grew. Until they finally united under a same insignia, a same cry." A black servo rises to cup the purple emblem on gray chest plates, and red optics _focus_. "You are being deceived."

As Megatron leans back in his throne, servos once more on the armrests, Spike finally realizes he doesn't feel apprehension or fear anymore.

Though his stomach is still roiling, and not precisely in hunger.

It… feels almost like _anger_. Or disgust.

Until his mind flashes back to the _Ark_ and the Autobots, and all emotion turns to pain and betrayal and… pity?

Yes, pity.

"Do you think there could be any way for me to get a copy of your book? I'd like to read it, and I'm sure it would help with convincing my Dad and the others." He asks calmly, and, after a moment, the warlord nods.

"Viewfinder." The Reflector member turns around, attentive. "Once all precautions have been implemented, see if you can translate a copy of my essays to English." The mech nods and, after receiving a mirroring gesture, goes back to his work. "Now, human, I have things to do. Will you willingly go with Thundercracker?"

"Yes, Sir."

After a moment, the boy blinks, realizing just what he's said.

Sir. He called Megatron _sir_.

The Decepticon leader, however, doesn't seem bothered, simply nodding and taking him in a surprisingly gentle grip.

The blue Seeker meets them in the corridor, and, after simply leaving the teenager in his servos, Megatron keeps on his way.

Spike has an idea as to where he's going, but he doesn't mention it.

"How's Starscream?" He asks after a moment, and Thundercracker looks at him before returning his attention to the corridor they're walking through.

"The Constructicons are still working on him, but he'll be fine. You didn't get to refuel, did you?"

"No." He answers, allowing the change in topic, and the Flier relaxes minutely.

"Soundwave said to take you to his room, with the Cassettes. Are you fine with that?"

"Yes, that's cool. They're… friendly. It's a bit weird." He chuckles softly at that, but his smile says more than enough.

"You will get used to that."

They don't speak more after that, but, when they finally arrive at the room, the Seeker simply sits down on the feet of the berth while the slightly worried and really relieved smaller mechs swarm the human, asking him for more tales as he munches on some fruit the Flier gave him.

When he finally falls asleep, it is in a pile of mismatched blankets and six Cassettes.

And Spike couldn't be more comfortable.

* * *

A grim Bumblebee with a tired and forced smile guides them to their room, but, as soon as they're inside, his façade breaks.

"I just… I'm worried about Spike." He tells them, each of the humans, minus Chip, sitting on their respective beds while the Minibot is cross-legged on the floor between them. "I just can't believe he's…"

"Bee, what did exactly happen?" Carly asks, her legs up to her chest with her arms hugging them, though her voice is strong.

"There was a battle early on, and we managed to capture Thundercracker. I was in the Repair Bay, and since everyone else was busy, Spike went with Jazz to interrogate the Con."

"Spike, going to an interrogation? Isn't he too soft for that?" Raoul muses with his nose scrunched up, and while the others give him pointed looks, no one denies his words.

"What? No! No, that's _not_ what we do, we Autobots don't do torture!" The yellow mech hurries to reassure once he realizes what the question exactly is. "It's just some questioning, maybe a bit of blackmailing and even some bluffs. And Jazz's really good with those, he and Prowl can manage to figure out most things, so the Cons end up giving them the confirmation with their reactions to certain questions. Well, the thing is, Spike was there when Ravage snuck in and deactivated the defenses, so Skywarp took him when he teleported to the brig. Jazz was caught by surprise, and he couldn't do anything to stop them." He finishes sadly, looking to the floor, and the humans all mimic him. "When we realized what had happened, Prime contacted the Decepticons to get Spike back, but he had already been brainwashed."

"Does he really think you're all enemies?" Sparkplug whispers, more heartbroken than any of them, and the Minibot grimaces.

"I don't really know what they did, but he thinks the Autobots are some kind of slavers." Raoul lets out an incredulous laugh at that, eyes wide, and Chip can only nod in agreement.

The Autobots, _slavers_? Could there be anything farther from the truth?

"So that's why Jazz was so serious before. Poor guy, he shouldn't blame himself for that." The bespectacled teen adds with a shake of his head, attracting Bumblebee's attention.

"He takes his job really seriously, and you're all our friends! He's supposed to be the one ambushing, not being ambushed, so that's a really big blow to his pride. Plus, Optimus is… disappointed. And when the Prime is disappointed… it hurts. A lot." His last words are a whisper as the young mech stares at his servos on his lap, and the boy has to grimace.

Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, some kind of authoritative figure in Cybertronian everyday live before the war, and with a metaphorical golden heart that shouldn't fit in his chest cavity?

Yes, disappointing him must hurt _a lot_. It's bad enough to deal with the guilt of one of your friends getting captured by the enemy in front of you, but adding that kind of emotional sting?

Ouch.

"We should do something for him." He lets out loud, attracting the attention of the other humans. "You know, to cheer Jazz up. Poor guy must be feeling horrible."

"And I'm sure he did all he could to protect my son." Sparkplug adds with a nod, looking a bit more determined and less helpless now that they have a task.

"He's a cool dude, and this place is gloomy enough with everyone being so stiff with worry." Raoul agrees, resting his weight back on his hands. "Count me in."

"Me too." Carly pipes in with a smile. "I hate to see him so serious. Besides, Raoul is right. Getting the old Jazz back would do a lot to cheer the rest of Autobots."

"Are you guys sure?" Bumblebee asks, confused. "I mean, yeah, getting Jazz to be all hyped up again would be nice, but maybe he needs some time on his own."

"No way, swallowing in guilt will do him no good." The girl answers firmly, her voice not allowing anything but an affirmative, so the Autobot lifts his servos in a peaceful gesture. "So, are you in?"

"Er… Well, so long as I'm not required anywhere else, sure."

"Good! So… what should we do?"

"Maybe talk with him?"

"He talks to Prowl in these situations." All eyes turn to the yellow mech at that, who gives them a smile and a shrug. "You know, high-ranking officers and all that, they don't have to keep confidential information from each other because they have the same clearance."

"Right, you guys are supposed to be some Military." Raoul is the first to get out of his shock, putting a fist on his other hand in realization. "Hard to remember when you're all so friendly all the time."

"That's because we have a clearly defined structure where everyone knows their place. Really, such a disorganized system like the Decepticons would be disastrous. Too chaotic and… anarchic."

"You said it, Bee. Some days, I wonder how they manage to work." Sparkplug answers, shaking his head.

"I guess fear goes a long way." Carly muses, and all of them nod.

Megatron _is_ one big scary Cybertronian. And after so many 'assassination attempts' from Starscream, who is as high as Second in Command, it's no wonder the rest are too scared to go against him.

"Well, it's been a long day, and I have things to do, so I'll leave you to your rest." Bumblebee says after a moment, getting back to his pedes. "By the way, we put together a bathroom, through that door. Oh, and we installed a security camera there." He adds, signaling first to one door that, according to the layout of the other rooms Chip has been in, opens to a tiny—for Cybertronian—wardrobe, and then to one of the corners of their actual room, where a tiny and almost invisible camera is effectively staring down at them.

"You didn't rig the bathroom too, did you?" Carly asks suspiciously, and the Autobot chuckles.

"Red Alert wanted to put a camera there too, but don't worry, we didn't let him. Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Good night!"

And with that, the scout leaves the room.

"Um, did anyone bring night clothes?" All humans exchange wide-eyed looks, and the girl gets up with a sigh at their unvoiced answer. "No disrespect, but I'm going to ask for a dividing curtain or something."

Sparkplug chuckles, already taking out his boots, while Raoul lies down on his back with a wide yawn.

Chip shakes his head before following the blonde.

"Hey, Carly, wait. I'm coming with you. I'm not too tired yet." He explains at her confused look, and she just smiles and nods as they get to the corridor.

They cross other Autobots on their way to the Repair Bay, both having agreed it's most likely Ratchet has something they could use as dividing curtain, but none of them give them more than a salute or a nod, so they just keep chatting about nothing important to keep their minds off of the reason for their sleepover at the _Ark_.

Until, of course, something else distracts them.

Meaning, the sight of a battered Head of Special Operations sitting on a Repair Bay berth and completely missing an arm.

"Jazz!" Both humans exclaim in unison, mildly horrified and more than a bit worried, because the saboteur had been _fine_ when they came in. "What happened to you?!"

"Oh, hey! Got too pulled into my work." The mech answers cheerfully, as if he was undamaged.

"Too pulled into—that's from training?" The boy asks, dumbfounded, because he can't really think of anything else.

"Spec Ops, Chip." The Autobot answer with half of his visor going black in a blink.

"Man, am I glad I'm not in there." He can't help but add in a whisper, and the black and white mech snickers, having obviously heard.

"What happened to your arm?" Carly asks with worry as they move closer to the sitting mech, still smiling down at them.

"Ratchet had to completely detach it to fix it properly, but no worries, he'll put it back once he's got the socket repaired."

"You _really_ did go overboard with that."

"What can I say? I looked for that one. Gotta be better next time." The saboteur's smile dims with the answer, but it quickly brightens again before any of the teenagers can think of a retort. "You know, I think you two would make fine Spec Ops agents."

"Are you joking?" Carly snorts, an amused half grin on her face, while Chip gestures to his chair.

"Not from here, buddy."

"None of that. Spec Ops isn't just about the body. In fact, most of it is about the mind and the heart."

"Heart?"

"Spark for us, heart for you. You know, gut feelings? And I'm not talking about hungry growls." The Cybertronian explains with an amused grin, and the humans have to laugh at that one. "Nah, seriously now." And, to their confusion and maybe a bit of trepidation, the saboteur's smile vanishes as he leans a bit closer to them, his voice lowering to an almost mystifying tone. "The heart's the number one tool, and the most important rule is that you should _always_ listen to it. It may sound crazy at times, but seldom is it completely wrong. And if it looks like something doesn't fit… well, that's why you have the brain. You listen to that whisper, and take a look around _really closely_ to find just what it wants us to." And the smile appears again, warm and as cheerful as usual. "And that, along an awesomely trained frame and maybe some extra tricks, is what makes a Special Operations Agent. Of course, one can never expect to be as cool as me, but trying would only make you better."

The teenagers snicker at that, along the cocky pose of the Third in Command, before loud steps make them turn to the Medic approaching with a deadpanned glare and a completely repaired black and white arm dangling from a servo.

"Good to know I won't have to fix that ego of yours."

"It's not ego, Ratch, it's _fact_."

The humans laugh again, and, after they get the curtains they came here for along Hoist to help them put them in place, they return to their room in a happy mood.

Only when he's in his bed, warm and cozy but a bit weird because it isn't _his_, does Chip realize they hadn't actually managed to talk to Jazz about the whole incident with Spike.

In fact, the saboteur had been the one to cheer _them_ up, rather than the other way around.

"Well, look at that. He really _is_ that good."

* * *

**AN:** Took long enough to get this out... And this time, you can all blame Megatron.

Delay aside, I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am with this chapter. Despite his initial lack of cooperation, and completely disregarding the script _again_, Megatron turned out far better than I had initially expected. And Chip's part? It was _amazing_ to write *bounces excitedly* I hope I get to write more like that, it was so _fun_!

Also, where I am it's still Sunday, so I tecnically managed to update on the weekend, meaning, if I get next chapter ready soon, expect it on Friday/Saturday ;)


	9. Into Darkness

**AN:** The actual Author's Note is at the bottom, as usual, but I thought it better to warn you that there is kind-of 'gore' in this chapter. Nothing too explicit or messy, in my opinion, but it is there nevertheless. For those who know me, I wouldn't rate this M (and it is nowhere close to the _Death Shall Take Us All_ chapter of _Time Paradox_), but I thought it better to give you all a heads-up nevertheless.

* * *

Spike's thoughts are muddled when he wakes up, to the point he doesn't know where he is until, fidgeting to get untangled from the blankets, his elbow meets something warm and metallic.

Hard.

He yelps and curses as he rubs his aching limb, pins and needles running all over his arm, as grumbling starts all around him, accompanied by red and yellow optics and visors slowly lighting up.

"Ow. What was that for, Squishy?" One of the Grounder twins asks, sounding more asleep than awake, as he rubs the side of his helm, and the boy can't help his nervous chuckling as he realizes just what he hit.

"Sorry. I was trying to get up, but I was a bit tied up."

"Why?" Ratbat asks with a big yawn, not moving from his position draped over a resigned Ravage's back. "Recharge cycle's not over yet…" He adds, one wing scratching the spot under a large ear as he gives the human a look from almost black optics.

Spike can't help the small amused smile on his face at the childish actions, but, as he slowly stands up, dragging a blanket with him to ward off the cold, he suddenly realizes just _what_ brought him out of sleep.

"I have to go to the bathroom." He answers, and all the Decepticons groan in unison. "I'll be back before you know it." He adds, though, if pressed to answer, he wouldn't know _why_ he said that.

Ignoring the chirring and clicking from the metal and cloth pile, the boy carefully moves to where he thinks the edge of the berth is and tries to look down when his probing foot meets empty air.

Nothing but darkness.

"Stop right there, Fleshy. If you end splattered all over the floor, Boss'll blame us." A voice calls from his back, and Spike turns to see one of the humanoid mechs approaching, though he can't tell who due to the lack of light.

As soon as the Cassette is close enough, and without asking for permission or even giving him a heads up, the teenager feels himself picked up bridal style.

After barely more than enough time for the human to squeak in surprise, the Decepticon jumps—and they land on the floor with a soft trembling travelling through the boy's bones before he's put on the ground.

Before he can catch his breath and convince his heart that the danger has passed, a servo is put on his shoulder to push him around, and Spike stumbles a couple of steps before he regains his balance.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't soil our recharging place." The Cassette answers with a shrug easily felt through the grip he keeps on the boy.

Before he can protest, say he's not a baby that needs to be carried around and that he would be fine if someone gave him a lantern, the door opens with a soft swish, and the corridor's lights leave him blinded.

When the door closes at their back, and with his eyes finally used to the change in illumination, the servo on his shoulder vanishes.

A look reveals Frenzy being guilty of pushing the boy around, moving down the corridor while gesturing for the boy to follow.

Adjusting his blanket and letting an annoyed huff out, Spike does so.

And, fifteen minutes later, he lets out another wordless sound, this time a sigh of relief, as he steps out of the 'bathroom'.

Frenzy is leaning against the wall next to the door, visor black and frame slack almost to the point where he should be sitting on the ground instead of standing upright, though he quickly straightens as Spike approaches him.

"Sheesh, you took your time." He grumbles, pushing away from the wall while stretching, and the teenager gives him a smirk in answer.

"If you want, I could tell you _exactly_ why." He answers, and the Cassette ends with a full body shiver and a disgusted grimace at that.

"Pit, no. You squishies are more than disturbing enough without knowing about your functioning processes."

Spike snickers.

Good to know he has a way to keep the Grounder twins in check.

Which reminds him that this is the same way he used to blackmail another set of twins too, back in the _Ark_.

Back when things had been simpler.

Black and white.

A huge lie.

"Yo, Spiky, stop processing before you burn something." A voice calls, bringing him out of his musings to find a nonchalant Frenzy staring at him.

Though the way he keeps clenching and unclenching the fist almost completely hidden by his side is more than enough to reveal his uneasiness and worry.

And that's when the words finally make sense.

"Spiky?"

"Better than 'squishy'." The Cassette answers with a lazy grin, and the human doesn't bother trying to stop his amused snort.

"Yeah." And all mirth vanishes as his thoughts once more go back to red and golden plating, and red insignias that, what feels just like yesterday, had meant 'good'. "Hey, do you think I could go visit Mirage?"

Frenzy reboots his visor, startled expression on his faceplate, before tilting his head.

"What for?"

"Just… Could I?" He repeats instead of answering, because he's not sure he has an explanation anyway.

He wants to say that it's because the Autobot is a friend, even after all he's found out, but—

_And, over them, the air shimmers._

_Mirage is nothing if not his usual haughty self, staring at the damaged mech like one would a discarded chocolate wrapping in an otherwise clean street._

_In disgust._

—he's not sure anymore.

"Well… I guess you _could_, but I'm not sure they would let you. PTSD and all that." Spike blinks, once more startled out of his thoughts by the Decepticon's voice, before frowning at the answer.

"PTSD?"

"Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. You trusted him, he betrayed you, attacked you, and tried to bring you to someplace where you would end _wishing_ for deactivation." The Cassette answers with a shrug, as if talking about the weather, before frowning. "Well, or maybe not, but I'm sure the Boss will say something like that."

Spike shudders, pulling the blanket closer.

And then, after a moment of quiet, he looks up at the expectant mech once more.

"Still. Could I?"

For a moment, Frenzy doesn't answer, turning away with a pensive frown on the set of his mouth.

"They wouldn't let you." He answers, and the human's shoulders slump— "But I could sneak you in." The Cassette adds, looking up with a sharp smirk, and Spike's heart skips a beat.

"Really?"

"Yup. But, don't say a thing, 'kay? Boss won't be happy with me if he finds out about this, but, you know… You turned against the Bots 'cause they didn't tell you everything, right? So, we're going to be _better_ than the Auto-scum." The Decepticon answers, straightening and puffing his chest out proudly.

For a moment, Spike can just stare with his lower jaw almost falling to the floor.

"That's… pretty thoughtful."

Frenzy scowls.

"What, you thought I was all brawn and no processor? Sheesh, way to talk to the mech _babysitting_ you." The Cassette sneers, crossing his arms against his chest, and the teenager feels both chastised and insulted.

"Hey, I just dealt with you during battle before this mess, and it isn't like you need to do a lot of thinking _then_." He scoffs, straightening himself, to glare at the Decepticon.

"Just because it looks like I'm not thinking doesn't mean I'm _not_." Frenzy scowls, his visor darkening in a glare.

After a moment, and suppressing an eye-roll, Spike gives him a nod, accepting defeat this time.

After all, he _wants_ to get into the brig, and this mech is his only ticket there as of now.

Looking smug, Frenzy turns around, giving him a simple wave to get him to follow, and, silent, the boy obeys.

And, when they go past Soundwave's room—or what he thinks is Soundwave's room, because they all look pretty much the same from the outside—Spike's breath catches in his throat.

They walk some more, the Cassette ignoring the glares the few mechs they encounter direct at them, while the human keeps his head down and hurries to be right next to his guide, before they enter a large storage room, devoid of any life except for the two of them.

Frenzy gives Spike a look, a dactyl lifted to his lips in the universal 'be quiet' sign, before moving behind a stack of boxes and easily prying an inconspicuous almost invisible grate open.

The human hesitates for a moment, before, with a deep breath, he follows the Cassette's silent command and gets inside.

A warm metallic hand grabs his, and, barely keeping a startled yelp at bay, tugs him forward.

So, clenching the Decepticon's servo tighter with his own, his other hand gripping the edges of his blanket to keep a cold that has nothing to do with their situation at bay, he lets himself be guided into the darkness, only Frenzy's red visor lighting the way, albeit poorly.

They walk past more grates, some showing dark rooms and others letting light and Cybertronian and English speech through, but they don't give them the smallest glance—in the Cassette's case, that is, because Spike strains to look despite being unable to see anything due to his eyes not adjusting fast enough to the change of light.

Until, what feels like hours later, Frenzy stops.

There's another grate up ahead, this one letting light and soft beeping and clinking through, but not as noisy or bright as some others they've walked past.

The Cassette turns around, faceplate serious, and, even though he doesn't speak or make the smallest noise, Spike hears the question loud and clear.

_Are you sure you want this?_

Taking a deep breath to get rid of the growing doubt and the trickle of fear, the human nods.

The Decepticon answers with a sharp grin and a nod of his own before, even quieter than before, which is to say a lot, he pulls him closer.

And then, before the teenager can doublethink his decision, they're at the grate.

A servo presses against his lower face, muting his startled gasp, as the one still enveloping his hand tightens minutely.

But Spike doesn't look at Frenzy, doesn't even blink, because the sight in front of him is enough to make even that tiny voice at the back of his head that usually berates him in similar situations go silent.

This isn't the brig.

The room is big, like the storeroom they accessed the ventilation shaft from, but with fewer boxes, all of them resting against the walls and stacked so that they don't occupy as much space, and with strange machines beeping quietly, lights and alien script and charts on their screens.

There are a couple of strong-looking metal poles seemingly imbedded in the ground, their bases soldered so precisely to the metal floor that they look as if they simply sprouted from it.

And, tied to them, arms and legs spread open by the chains linking the cuffs to the poles, is Mirage.

But that isn't what has Spike mute in horror.

The Autobot spy is shivering softly, his armor plates softly colliding being the source of the clinking, with his blue optics alight, albeit shining so brightly that they look almost white, and his faceplate scrunched in horror and pain, but not a sound escaping his gaping mouth.

It gets worse.

Because Mirage's arm may be repaired enough that, while the servo is missing and the lower forearm is still shredded, it's not bleeding anymore, nor are there stray sparks or anything that could scream 'trouble'.

Yet his unfocused gaze and expression and trembling have a justification.

A very clear, very blatant, very _terrifying_ justification.

The blue pharaoh-like headdress distinctive of the noble is missing, which only accentuates his scared look, revealing pale silvery metal covering his cranium and the back of his neck.

Only, they aren't.

Thin silver metal plates are pulled out in a macabre mockery of a flower's petals, the seams smooth and undamaged and looking like they haven't been pried open, but separated of their own volition, but Spike knows it hasn't been so.

Because that which is now bared to the room, to its occupants and their unknown observers, is a thick cord of cables braided elegantly, rings of silver keeping them together with tiny bright red gem-like stones in the middle of each of them, some wires going out or coming in from the rest of the frame, extending further under the intact scuffed back plating, connecting the body with the head, like an organic's neural chord.

Which means that the dark grey rounded yet boxy thing with lots of tiny cables braiding together as they run down to join the large one on his back, and tiny yet bright yellow and white and blue sparks running through them or blinking on the dark metallic parts, is Mirage's processor.

Or… _was_.

Spike is not a genius, he isn't intelligent like Chip or Carly, but he still remembers his biology classes enough to recognize the bunch of cabling and chips and smooth casing that have been pulled apart and are now seemingly floating effortlessly behind the spy, connected still to the Autobot's now empty cranium by some wires and tubes, some thick as the human's arm and others so thin they're almost invisible, all of it suspended by ropes so thin they are only visible thanks to the light reflecting off them, like fishing line.

Like a puzzle, all pieces in place but not connected, showing the image they are meant to but not.

Not broken, nothing missing. Just separated. Disjointed, but still there, still visible, still _working_.

But that isn't all there is in the room, that isn't the reason for the churning of his stomach and the breath stuck in his throat, from his brain being frozen in the instant before it finally realizes it should order a horrified scream to be let out.

Megatron is there, standing tall and strong and more menacing than any other time, staring into Mirage's vacant and horrified and agonized faceplate with an emptiness that is more terrifying than any of his dark grins has ever been, arms crossed against his chest plate.

Still.

_Waiting_.

Bombshell is behind a machine connected to the ports in Mirage's undamaged arm, sporadically looking to another with more cables streaming out of it, these ones connected to—

Soundwave.

The Cassette Carrier is even more still than the Decepticon leader himself, three thick cables running from the back of his helm to the second of the Insecticon's machines, while two more, one on each forearm, go to the first, the one also connected to the Autobot.

His visor is black, slightly bowed helm only accentuating the darkness.

His frame is unmoving, not even the smallest of shivers making it shift.

His arms are up and open, servos spread wide, looking almost welcoming, if not for _everything else_.

Because Soundwave is standing behind Mirage, open arms surrounding the spy's dismantled processor, and with tiny trickles of electricity jumping between his servos and the bared cables every now and then, lighting up whole parts of the Autobot's _brain_.

He knows the Decepticon Communications Officer can read processors, even human brains, but this…

This isn't mere mind-reading.

This is something bigger, something _worse_, and the teenager can't even begin to think of just _what_ is going on, unable to turn away from the tortured Autobot, the immovable Cassette Carrier, the _calm_ warlord, the nonchalant Insecticon—

So horrified is he by the image, that Spike doesn't notice he's being shaken until Frenzy decides to give up on that and just turns him around.

Away from the grate, and everything on the other side, on that other _world_ he never knew—or wished to know—that existed.

And in the Cassette's face, he sees worry.

And _fear_.

Spike realizes, right there and then, that this is bigger than whatever he wasn't able to wrap his mind around.

It was a mistake to come, and he knows it, just as Frenzy knows it too, judging by his pained grimace.

So, when the Cassette takes his servo away from his mouth to wrap it around their still joined ones and tugs him away, back to the dark tunnel where they came from, Spike obeys.

Static crackles at the other side of the grate, and they freeze.

Slowly, they turn around as they hear pede-steps disrupting the quiet beeping and clinking, and see Megatron moving next to Bombshell as the black and purple mech does something on the second screen.

And, after a quick look at whatever is showing on it, the Decepticon leader gives a small nod accompanied by a short string of clicking.

Frenzy's grip on his hand tightens—

With a loud shudder, Mirage slumps in his shackles, and his optics go black at the same time his plating turns gray.

_"Did he go gray? The Doorwinger's color scheme, did it turn gray?"_

_"N-No, he… he was very still and his eyes were black b-but he was still black a-and white…"_

_"Then he wasn't deactivated. This isn't paint, they're color nanites. Skin cells. And they require a constant energy input to keep functioning, so, when we deactivate, they're the first to go offline and turn gray. If he didn't go gray, Prowl is still active."_

Prowl didn't go gray when Jazz attacked him, back in the _Ark_, seemingly an eternity ago, which meant he had been just knocked out.

But Mirage has.

Which means—

The Communications Officer's arms lower, dark blue servos taking out the cables on his forearms before moving to those on the back of his helm, and he takes a step back as Bombshell and Megatron click to each other in the background.

Soundwave turns towards the grate, and Spike can see only a large dark silhouette with hints of dark blue and red and white before a thin sharp line of red, nothing more than a scratch in the blackness revealing the Hellfire hidden beneath, meets his eyes and everything goes black—

And, with the horrified scream finally escaping through his lips and parched throat, Spike jerks upwards from his lying position, wrestling with a blanket for a moment before he gets finally free of it.

Breathing labored and tears blurring his sight, he hunches down into himself, pressing the heels of his trembling hands against his closed lids as he tries to calm down.

The human-sized warm metallic hand rubbing his back is helping a lot with that.

"Hey, Spike, calm down, that's it, take it easy." A voice murmurs over and over, close enough that he knows is whoever of the Grounder Cassette twins that the servo belongs to, and the boy focuses on it to push away the images of that… that…

"Nightmare. Just a nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare." He whispers to himself, and feels the rubbing stop before the mech slowly moves away, his trembling reduced to mere shivers and his pants having turned to calming deep breaths.

After a second, Spike straightens and takes his hands off his face, blinking a couple times to get used to the bright room, and the first thing he focuses on is Frenzy's hesitant smile and fidgeting servos.

"Huh, yeah, about that…"

Something moves behind the Cassette, and the human lifts his gaze to meet Megatron's bright red optics and Bombshell's expectant expression and Soundwave's emotionless visage.

Spike feels himself paling as his eyes widen and his breath hitches.

_No. No, it can't…_

"You… kinda fainted." Frenzy continues, and him moving a bit to the side attracts the teenager's attention again.

To what the small mech's frame was hiding from his sight.

A couple of poles growing from the ground of an almost completely empty storage room, but there's no sign of—

"Mirage?"

Frenzy grimaces.

* * *

**AN:** Aaaand, that's it. I hope it wasn't too horrible. But, with that said, let me play the part of Devil's advocate and say that both the Autobots and the Decepticons already said that there would be no more playing around. To Mirage's fans, my apologies, but I sincerely couldn't see the story going any other way.

That said, let's change the subject: Sorry for the late update and my disappearance, Real Life is being bossier than ever lately. However, I got the chance to write some while in my 'hiatus', so next chapter is already started, though not finished, so I can't give you a date for when it'll be posted, but know I'm working on it (on and off, you know me).

**Guest (1):** Wow, that's... you've got me blushing and feeling all sheepish, and I don't know if I should apologize or die from joy, so I'll just say this: Thank you. I hope this new chapter is also to your liking ^^

**Guest (2):** I'm really happy to read that ^^ With how hard to write Megatron has been in this, I'm overjoyed to know at least all those times banging my head on the table were worth something XD We should see Starscream soon enough, but I've no idea when Megatron will show up after this chapter... That mech likes to do things his own way...


	10. Nature and Nurture

"—and then I woke up, and I thought it had all been a nightmare, but it _hadn't_ and…" Spike's throat closes with a mix of disgust and fear and the same betrayal making his hands tremble, so he closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths, focusing on the warmth of the mug in his hands.

Just warm milk, but more than enough.

That, and—

"And you asked to be brought to me." Starscream finishes, voice purposefully neutral, and, without opening his eyes, the human nods. "Why, I still can't fathom."

"I… I couldn't stay with _them_." The teenager whispers after a moment, peeling his lids open to stare at the soft ripples on the mug's surface, his hands no longer trembling, but still shivering as he remembers—and quickly pushes away—the events in the storage room.

In the _torture_ room.

"You knew things would be different." The Seeker points out after a moment, and Spike can only nod before taking a sip of his drink.

It's going cold.

So, the human drains the mug with a couple deep gulps, and hopes the warmth in the ceramic, or whatever it is made of, will last for a while more.

"I didn't know _how_ different it would be." He answers when he's done, finally looking up.

Starscream is in the Repair Bay, reclined against the lifted back of a berth, his damaged side opened up and in the middle of the repair process, but he seems no more bothered by it than any human would a small cut or a bruise, and looking down at where the teenager is curled against his hip, blanket tightly pulled around him, in a strange sort of calming seriousness.

"It's just, Soundwave had been so _nice_…" He feels compelled to add after a moment, remembering the nest of blankets and pillows, and being hold with the same care the boy would a newborn kitten. "And Megatron had been… not nice, but… well, _nice_. Not the same kind of nice, though, it was more like…"

"Respect. Equality." Starscream supplies, attracting the human's attention and, after a moment to process the words, receiving a nod. "Yes, that's Megatron, alright. The philosopher. The idealist. But, you forget, we are more than just our selves. We are soldiers, warriors. And we must do what is needed to survive, and to have something to live for afterwards."

Spike looks away once more, finally discarding the mug when he realizes it feels colder than his own shaking hands, burying himself further under his blanket.

"I know. But… I guess it's just harder to _accept_ it."

"If it's worth anything, Soundwave hates rummaging around a mech's processor."

The human closes his eyes, pressing tighter against warm metal.

"Frenzy said that too. And I believe him, I believe you, but… I need some time to process things. To… come to terms with… _this_."

"You won't." Spike looks up at that, startled, but Starscream's gaze is lost in the middle distance. "If you have a spark, a heart, you can never get used to war, deactivation, death. At least, that's what everyone says."

The teenager knows he should be feeling horrified, scared, at those last words and nonchalant shrug and expression accompanying them, but…

He feels numb. Maybe the shock of what he witnessed just hasn't worn off yet.

"But you have?" He asks, voice calm and slightly curious, and the Seeker turns to him with a strange darkness in his optics.

"I have learnt to deal with it."

He doesn't know if he should take it as an answer to his question, of Starscream having learnt how to deal with the horrors of war, or that the Flier has learnt to deal with his getting used to them.

And, right now, he doesn't care.

So, Spike just nods and buries his face in his blanket-covered arms, concentrating on the warm plating against his back and trying not to think.

It's easy, once Hook comes back with the piece he was missing and resumes working on Starscream's shoulder, because, since he's not forced to leave, the boy can watch and, after some minutes, he manages to muster the courage to ask about parts, and actions, and tools, and the Constructicon calmly answers each and every query, not once looking away from his work.

Spike doesn't understand half of what he explains, prompting more questions, but, even then, he's grateful for the distraction.

For the chance to forget the reason of his being here.

And then, Hook touches something he shouldn't and Starscream almost rips his faceplate off with a suddenly clawed servo if the Constructicon hadn't jumped back at the shriek.

"Whoa, sorry, sorry! Here, let me dial down the pain receptors."

"You better." The Seeker hisses, snarling menacingly and fledging his clawed dactyls, while Spike observes with wide eyes and his heart in his throat.

"You know it would be better if I put you in stasis."

"I told you before, and I won't say it again. _No_. _Stasis_."

"What was _that_?" The human finally manages to ask, further calmed down by the almost casual bickering, and the Flier turns to him while holding out a forearm for Hook to insert a cable from his own into an unseen port.

"That was a Constructicon's clumsiness at its fine—Ouch!" The Second in Command jumps a bit in his reclined position as the green mech rips the cable off his port rather abruptly, both exchanging a glare.

"_That_ was the idiocy of Seekers in thinking that using their wings as shields wouldn't be a pain to repair afterwards." Hook returns pompously before turning once more to his task.

"I'd like to see _you_ deal with a surprise attack while having a squishy in your servos."

"No, no, that's not—I meant the claws. Since when do you have claws?" Spike cuts before things can get out of hand, and two startled Decepticons stare at the human in disbelief.

"All Seekers have claws. All _Fliers_ have claws. _Doorwingers_ have claws too." The Constructicon answers after a moment, with Starscream simply nodding at the boy's wide-eyed look. "Which reminds me…"

Once more, medic and Air Commander turn to glare at one another, as if Spike had never appeared in the Repair Bay to begin with.

"No." Starscream deadpans and, to the boy's confusion, Hook nods.

"Very well. Then, the human goes."

"What?! _No_!" The teenager protests, clinging to the Seeker's hip plating as tightly as he can while looking pleadingly up at the two Cybertronian.

"Yes. Because, if I don't put him in stasis, he's going to thrash around, and that means you'll get squished, or clawed at or pushed down the berth, and since we have orders not to harm you, that means you'll just simply have to be taken away from Starscream if I am to finish his repairs." The green mech explains calmly, almost cheerfully, ignoring the snarl and hissing from the Flier and how the human's face falls.

"But…"

With a huff, the Second in Command leans further against the raised berth and clicks and whirrs something angrily, to which the Constructicon answers with a purred chuckle.

"Now, now, _Commander_, no need to use such nasty words."

"I can use nasty _actions_ instead, Hook. Don't tempt me."

"Always knew you couldn't resist my charms forever, but wait until I've finished the repairs before 'jumping me', as the humans say. More pleasant that way."

And Spike finds his jaw falling to the table once more, only this time from disbelief and embarrassment rather than the surprise of finding out about the Flier's claws.

After seeing the deadpanned look Starscream gives the Constructicon, though, he forces the words and unasked for images out of his head with a harsh shake.

_Decepticons_.

It is weird, how the emotions that now accompany that word are fondness and security, rather than fear and anger and disgust, but not truly unpleasant.

Well, as Thundercracker said, he had to get used to it, sooner or later.

"Spike." He startles at hearing his name, immediately looking up at Starscream's serious gaze, and feels cold unease start to pool at the bottom of his stomach. "Hook is going to put me in stasis to finish the repairs. That's… sedation, anesthesia, that kind of thing." The Seeker explains and, after a blink, the boy relaxes with a nod. "You are allowed to stay where you are, but Hook will be busy and won't be able to engage you in conversation. We can call for someone to take care of you in the meantime, or you can recharge."

After a look at the Constructicon, who just gives him a nod, the teenager turns away for a moment, pondering his options.

Though… there really isn't much to think about, as he truly doesn't feel like getting out of the Repair Bay and chancing encountering—some mechs.

"I'll stay."

After another exchange of nods, Spike moves a bit to make himself more comfortable and, even before the soft clicking of the two Decepticons ends, the excitement of the night pulls him into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Mirage pulls at his bonds, but they are too strong, not moving an inch despite the noble's best efforts, and his captor moves closer, clawed servos lifting as the thinnest band of red where a visor should be blazes even brighter, hiding its owner's frame in shadow._

_But, as it moves close enough to rest its talons against the captive's helm, the almost white terrified optics of the bond mech finally shed some light on the torturer, and darkness slithers off plating to reveal white and blue and a red insignia even as Soundwave's head is ripped apart, his processor falling in pieces as his face morphs into a dark faceplate, mouth open in a high-pitched scream—_

And Spike wakes up with a start and a yelp, the ground vanishing from under him, arms tied up—

With a soft 'oomph', he lands on firm but warm plating, even as the shrieking, which he now recognizes as angry cursing, continues in the background.

He turns around as soon as he wrestles the tied up blanket off himself—and he's starting to seriously consider asking for a sweater to replace it, to avoid any more tangling up in his sleep—and locates the source of the noise immediately when he spots Starscream, once more awake, glaring daggers at an equally annoyed Hook, who is now sporting four scratches on a shoulder plate, though there's no Energon dropping from them.

After his brain processes the scene, Spike finally manages to get his quickened heartbeat and gasped breathing normalized.

"Are you damaged, Squishy?" His handler asks once the human is finally relaxed, managing to almost startle the boy out of his skin, as he had all but forgot about the fact he's sitting on a Cybertronian's servos.

A look up reveals Mixmaster's slightly paler visor and tilted helm, both signs of curiosity, even as the Constructicon moves away from the bickering mechs to put the teenager down on a mostly cleared table.

"Ah, no, no. I'm fine." Spike finally answers after a moment, once he has finally taken stock of all his body parts and found nothing worse than a leg that has fallen asleep and is slowly, and slightly painfully, waking up.

"You don't _look_ fine."

"Just pins and needles." The boy retorts, grimacing, as he softly pats his waking leg, willing it to get its mobility and sensitivity back faster.

"Say what?"

A blink, and, when he looks up at the Decepticon, the human finds him literally scratching his helm with an expression that, despite his mostly unreadable faceplate, clearly conveys his utter bafflement.

"It's a human thing." He explains simply with a wide smile, trying to keep his chuckles quiet. "It's the sensation we get when a limb falls asleep and is waking up. It doesn't really mean we are being poked by pins and needles, it just feels like it."

The Constructicon gives him another look, analyzing him, even as he keeps scratching his helm.

"Sensory recalibration after temporary loss of function… I didn't know humans dealt with that too. But it usually happens after suffering damage. Is it the same with you organics?"

"No, not at all. Usually, it's because we rested weight on the limb while spending some time in the same position."

"You humans are weird." Mixmaster finally retorts after a moment of silence, straightening and crossing his arms against his chest plates with a shake of his helm, though not looking away from Spike.

Used to such answers, both from Autobots and, lately, Decepticons, Spike merely rests his weight on his hands as he leans back on his seating position, and sticks his tongue out at the purple and lime green mech.

The Constructicon tilts his helm again, visor brighter but also paler.

"… Why are you analyzing the Repair Bay's atmosphere now? The base levels of hydrogen-nitrogen-oxygen are still the same, and there have been no releases of any hazardous elements. _You_ wouldn't be here if that had happened."

Tongue still out of his mouth, Spike can only blink in confusion for a couple seconds before sucking it back in with a chocked laugh as the image of a snake finally fills his mind.

"I wasn't testing anything!" He finally manages to answer when he gets his mirth under control, one fist rubbing an eye to get both the results of his nap and his bout of laughter out of the way. "For humans, sticking your tongue out to another is a rude gesture. Usually, it means _I don't care_, or is used as an insult."

"… You were _insulting_ me?" Mixmaster questions, helm tilting, though there's no heat or anger in his voice, only curiosity.

"_You_ insulted me first saying my species is weird. Plus, you can insult in good humor too. I know even _Cybertronian_ can do that." He retorts, arms crossed against his chest as he straightens self-righteously, and, to his amusement, the Constructicon snorts.

"Now you're even _weirder_."

"Says the talking cement mixer."

"Well, you got that right." And Spike does a double-take at that, because is the Constructicon _agreeing_ with him? "Human machines are even weirder than humans themselves."

After a moment of silence, the teenager falls on his back laughing, his mirth echoed in the rumbling purr of the Decepticon in front of him, without a care for the fact that this means the mech has 'won' their 'argument'.

When the boy finally recovers, he finds it's his time to be curious as he see Mixmaster staring at his now silent companions, Starscream once more in stasis while laying on his front, with Hook fiddling with the wing socket, the repaired part waiting on a nearby table with some cables connecting it to an unrecognizable machine.

"What happened?" Spike asks softly, and, when the Constructicon at his side looks at him, he merely nods towards the other two.

"Ah, that. All wings are sensitive, with Seeker wings being chief among them. Hook touched something he shouldn't, and the Screaming One jolted out of stasis with battle protocols active to reformat my older brother's faceplate."

"_What_?!"

"Obviously, Hook evaded the first swipe, and, by then, our _dear_ Air Commander had enough systems active to realize what was going on."

But Spike shakes his head, because he had known the 'doctor' had avoided getting his face scratched with just a look at his damaged shoulder, but that isn't what he was asking for.

"No, no, not that. Hook is your _older brother_?" He clarifies, and receives a curious look from Mixmaster as the Constructicon leans against the table he's sitting on.

"Well, _duh_. We're _Gestalt_, of _course_ we are brothers. Not _spark_ brothers, mind you, but we're still… uh… how do fleshies put it… Ah, right! We're adoptive brothers!" The mechs answers, a fist tapping his opposite palm as realization dawns, before his visor darkens as he tilts his helm. "Though that's not quite it, either. Oh, yeah, that might just be it… You know how some humans would sometimes spend so much time together or be such good friends that they sometimes talk or feel like they're actual brothers?"

A brief memory of yellow and white plating and a tiny car, but, after pushing it away, Spike nods, looking down at the table under his crossed legs.

Bumblebee hadn't been _that_ close, more like a best friend, but, still…

Anyway, one way or another, he does know about what Mixmaster is trying to say, if nothing else because of many a TV show about samurais and soldiers and that kind of 'shield brothers', or whatever they are called, thing.

"We are not that."

And Spike does a double-take _again_, because he hadn't been expecting to have the explanation denied by the very mech that told him about it.

"I mean, we kind but kind of not are like that, because Gestalts aren't like that _at all_, but… Alright, the Stunticons? They're brothers because they were created together, and the Combaticons are brothers in arms, but Gestalts… Gestalts are a bit like 'blood brothers', but not in the sense of sharing the creators, but more like… like those in human movies, where individuals fill a cup with a mix of their life fluids and everyone takes a drink of it, taking a piece of the others into themselves, so that they are joined, one, from then on."

The explanation is crude and more than a bit disgusting, but, at the meaning the Decepticon gleams from the somewhat barbaric ritual, Spike's grimace vanishes.

He had never thought about that 'blood-drinking' thing like that, and, to be sincere, he kind of likes the idea of it now.

Not that he'll go around drinking his friends' blood, of course, but the symbolism…

It's oddly beautiful.

"That's what Gestalts are then? A group of people that shared a piece of themselves with each other?" He finally asks, looking up at the Constructicon in curiosity and slight awe, and Mixmaster straightens proudly with a nod.

"And that are forevermore connected by it like real spark brothers are, only tighter, as a Gestalt bond allows instantaneous communication with all the members of the Gestalt rather than only one individual at a time. Like a five or six-way call instead of having to make multiple calls to every integrant of the group."

"That's… amazing."

"Of course, that took a bit to perfect, but Shockwave isn't known as one of the greatest scientists in Cybertron for nothing."

A retort at the tip of his tongue, Spike stills.

Gestalts aren't naturally created, but an invention of Shockwave's.

Yet another weapon in this never-ending war.

_Way to sour such a nice idea._

He immediately shakes the thought away, literally, before once more looking up at Mixmaster, who is ignoring the human in favor of watching Hook work.

It's always harder to read mechs with visors than those with optics, basically because he's used to staring at creatures with two eyes instead of one visual band, but the facemask only makes it harder.

And yet, he can see clearly as day that the cement mixer is standing guard over his older brother, mostly in the way he's holding himself and staring more at Starscream than Hook, arms crossed against his chest plates but servos free in case he has to react quickly.

Well, he _did_ say something about the Seeker attacking first and becoming conscious of his own actions later.

Not that he can fault him. If someone was poking at Spike's shoulder painfully enough to wake him from anesthesia, he would also try to get away or get the offending party away instead of asking questions.

And, thinking about questions…

Up until now, Mixmaster has been quite amusing to talk to. So, what if…

"You said Shockwave invented Gestalts?" He asks in his best nonchalant tone, that, to his delight, doesn't raise any suspicion in the Constructicon, if the fact he merely nods without bothering to turn to him is any answer. "Does that mean he's your father?"

Mixmaster's visor reboots. Once. Twice.

And then, he slowly, _very slowly_, turns towards the widely grinning human.

Any moment now, the hysterical sputtering will begin.

Any moment…

"To think our best guarded secret would be discovered by a squishy…" Mixmaster whispers strangely emotionless, as if too in shock to properly exteriorize his feelings, and so it takes Spike a couple seconds longer than it should to decipher the words.

And their meaning.

"W—_What_?! Wait a second, _Shockwave_ is your _real_ father?!"

A couple of blinks later, the Constructicon has literally vanished from his sight, and it isn't until he follows the sound of raucous laughter that the human thinks to look at the floor to see the cement mixer rolling around.

"Oh, your _f-face_! I ca-can't believe you—you actually—!"

"He tricked you." Hook deadpans, immediately attracting Spike's attention. "He _tricked_ you." He repeats when the boy keeps staring, brain completely frozen, before shaking his helm and returning to his work. "Shockwave is _not_ our creator, though he _did_ invent Gestalts."

"Oh. _Oh_. Right. That's… That's… Okay. I think." He finally whispers, once he has managed to get his brain working again. "Of _course_ he's not your dad. I mean, how could I think that? Crazy, huh?" He asks with some chuckling, looking at where Mixmaster, recovered from his laughing fit, is sitting on the floor, leaning against the table the human is still on.

"Uh huh." The cement mixer agrees with a nod. "I don't think poor Scrapper would have survived having all of us as his _real_ spark brothers."

Silence.

"_Wait_ a second! _Scrapper_ is _Shockwave_'s—Hook! Is he telling the truth? _Hook_!"

But the medic merely smirks sharply to let him know he has heard, and continues with his work.

* * *

**AN:** For those that read _Flowery Cage_ last week, my apologies, RL decided I wasn't to have any free time to proof-read and post -.-

That aside, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. On the one hand, it's a fluffy one after the whole darkness of the last ones, but on the other... The characters really did whatever they wanted here. So, we have a kind of Prime!Knockout-Prime!Starscream interaction thingy, and Mixmaster's whole... Mixmaster-ishly character, jokes included. Or are they not jokes? ;P (Not telling *muahahaha*)

Either way, I decided to stop hitting myself over the head about it and just out and post it. Otherwise, I would never continue...

Enjoy!

**Kinetic Vo:** I'm glad you liked last chapter, darkness and pseudo-gore-ish thing included ^^ I hope the fluffiness does as good a job too!


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